


Firelight

by Kidd_you_not



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Long Dark (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint can be a little bit of an idiot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deaf Clint Barton, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Hopeful Ending, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Sharing a Bed, Swearing, Wilderness Survival, Wolf Attacks, for warmth AND emotional comfort, slowburn, techno-apocalypse to be precise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kidd_you_not/pseuds/Kidd_you_not
Summary: It’s been weeks since Clint and Natasha stood in knee deep snow and watched an aurora borealis curl across the night sky, taking out all technology in the area and leaving them to fend for themselves. They might be able to hold on until help arrives (if it ever does), but now there’s six mouths to feed and the food supply is running short.With the threat of starvation hanging over their heads, Clint makes a choice. He has his bow, he has his arrows, and he’s still strong enough to hunt game bigger than a rabbit; even if he has little to no idea how to find it.He doesn’t expect Bucky Barnes, Steve’s boyfriend and mostly silent member of their newfound group, to join him. They set out together, not sure what will take them first: the freezing temperatures, the roaming wolves, or gnawing hunger.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 51
Kudos: 121
Collections: Winterhawk Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, my Winterhawk Big Bang fic. I had the idea last Christmas and at least the first part of the fic has gone through many, many revisions and I'm so glad to have finally finished it (or rather, almost finished it).  
> Here you have the first chapter, two others will be posted over the course of a week. Please mind the tags and be aware that this story features heavy angst, violence against animals and a few graphic descriptions of field dressing and dead bodies, nothing too explicit though. You have been warned!  
> Also, all the love to weepingnaiad for beta reading and brainstorming ideas on how to stay alive in scenarios such as these with me!  
> Lastly, make sure to check out [ GWH's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GWH/pseuds/GWH)  
> amazing, absolutely breathtaking art! Thank you so much!!!

The wind blew, the snow fell, and Clint felt like the last man on earth. He drew comfort from the fact that he wasn’t. He was slowly, carefully moving through the knee-high snow, his meager findings strapped to his pelt, the dead rabbits swinging back and forth. He'd been out since sunrise, hoping he'd manage to evade the wolves and that they hadn't gotten to the rabbit snare before him. He'd put the trap up days ago and every time he'd looked at it, all he'd seen was another day of feeling hollowed out. Today, though, he had two rabbits, however skinny they were, and the prospect of not going to bed hungry for the first time in weeks.

The bow and quiver were strapped across his back, but the deer herds had moved away from their area and their little group was in no condition to follow. Steve'd been doing his best at coughing up his lungs for the better part of a week and they all feared that moving him would tip the balance and finally give the disease the advantage it needed to end it. Clint had another idea, though. One that was stupidly risky, but maybe what they had to do to make it through the rest of winter.

The formerly abandoned farmhouse came into view and he saw Sam crouching on the roof, on lookout duty. He could see the moment Sam spotted him because the man threw another look around and nimbly climbed down the downspout to greet Clint. "Are those rabbits?" he exclaimed, the excitement lighting up his face. Clint did his best to ignore the man's sunken cheeks, the clear signs of malnutrition. He grinned.

"Oh yes, they are. Prepare the feast, my friend!" And he shoved the rabbits at Sam, who laughed and hurried into the house, no doubt about to do just that. Clint took a few minutes to wipe the snow off his clothes and followed. Inside, he was hit by a gust of warm air and blessed silence, and he sighed. The constant noise outside, like the howling wind and the rustling trees, always managed to screw him around a little, but entering the farmhouse felt like he could finally centre himself again.

They didn‘t continuously heat the farmhouse but their constant presence and the good insulation did enough to keep the temperature at a bearable level, especially since crawling into a fridge felt like summer considering how cold it was outside. Shedding his layers upon layers of clothes, he listened around. He could hear quiet voices from upstairs, Steve and Bucky probably, but couldn't hope to make out what they were saying. There was a clatter in the kitchen, Sam getting the wood stove ready, and when he walked further into the hallway, he saw Wanda coming down the stairs. She looked like she just got out of bed.

He stopped her. "Hey, Wanda. Sam's in the kitchen, so can you take over lookout duty?" 

She looked at him a little grumpily, but nodded. "Yeah, sure. Anything I need to know?"

"Nothing, no wolves today." They'd installed lookout duty after realizing that the wolves in the area had noticed their presence and had started roaming closer and closer to the house. Now, they changed shifts hourly so no one had to stay outside without moving for too long. They had managed to drive the wolves back, but someone of their group getting jumped while returning home after a long day of exploring and scavenging still happened far too frequently for anyone's liking. Luckily, they were surrounded by what must have been pastures and leafless orchards, so they could spot approaching people and animals in advance.

Ever since the lights had started, the wildlife had become extremely aggressive and remembering the outfitter's assurance that the wolves wouldn't harm them always brought a bitter smile to his lips.

Wanda nodded and went back upstairs to gear up, so Clint ventured into the kitchen. Sam was just about to gut the rabbits, a skill they had all had to learn to do quickly and efficiently, and unable to keep it in any longer, Clint unloaded. "I need to talk to you about something." 

He could see Sam giving him a raised eyebrow, but he kept his eyes on the other’s nimble fingers. "The game is getting rarer and rarer. There's almost nothing out there and I'm not sure how much longer we can keep going," he said. Sam stopped his work and turned fully towards him. Sighing, Clint met his eyes.

"And what do you think we should do?" Sam asked him, a mix of curiosity and apprehension on his face.

"Split up." Sam's eyes widened and Clint hastily added, "Not permanently, I mean."

The man frowned. "Explain."

"We can't follow the herds all together, but we can follow them individually. I have a bow and arrows, I can hunt bigger game. We can't live off of skinny rabbits for the rest of winter, we all know that." Sam didn‘t seem convinced, so Clint kept going. "I want to follow the herds, kill one of the stags and bring its meat back here. One alone can get us through two weeks and we can freeze the meat or dry it for later. I'll be gone for a few days, but right now we can still afford it." By the end, he had his hands clasped in front of him, almost pleading.

"One stag might not do much in the long run, though. And you can't carry all that raw meat through the forest without being sniffed out by a wolf pack or two." Sam shook his head, a determined look on his face and started to turn his back to Clint. 

"If we send two or three, we can hunt more and protect each other," came a familiar voice from behind Clint and he flinched in surprise. He stepped aside and let Bucky enter the kitchen. God, that guy needed a bell, he thought. Trying to compose himself, he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Did you hear everything?" he asked Bucky, who looked up from around Clint's midsection and nodded. "Good." He hesitated, not sure how to go on. Thankfully, Sam jumped in.

"If you and maybe Barnes go, you could bring back enough meat to fill our reserves and give us some time to breathe. We could start focusing on medicine, finding other survivors and plan our long-term survival." He was getting more thrilled by the second. "I'll take over putting up snares and checking them for you. Barnes, Steve's doing okay right now, so you can leave his bedside for a hot minute." 

Bucky grunted, but in his head, Clint was reeling. Bucky was gonna come with him. The Fuck. He didn‘t know the guy; no one here really did, except for Steve. He didn't want to start a life threatening journey with a guy he hardly knew. Also...

"Hold up!" Clint threw his hands out to stall the other men in their rapid planning. "You're sending the one-armed guy with the deaf one? There's a joke somewhere in there, I know it."

"Save it, Blondie, I can handle myself just fine," Barnes growled and gave him a warning look. Clint only shrugged and opted for a tactical retreat. 

Aimlessly, he headed for the stairwell, but he was distracted when the front door opened and Natasha stepped through. His friend shook herself and threw off her parka. 

"Where have you been?" he asked.

Slipping out of her shoes, she said, "There were some rose hips I wanted to get. We can use them to make tea." She headed to the kitchen and he reluctantly followed. He was just in time to hear Sam ordering Bucky to go get the few frozen vegetables they still had from outside.

"Oh, and can you ask Steve to come help me cook? He gets grumpy when we leave him out of chores," he added.

**~**

It was after dinner, when their tiny little group had started cleaning up, that Clint put the stack of dirty dishes on the counter and brought his idea up again. 

“You want to head out there. Alone,” Natasha deadpanned.

“Not alone,” Bucky interjected, “I’d go with him.”

“I repeat," Natasha said. "You want to go out there, spend several days trekking through knee high snow and temperatures of thirty degrees below zero. The two of you. With three arms and one good pair of ears between you.” She leaned back against the table behind her and crossed her arms. “Are you suicidal?”

Clint deflated. “Nat, please. We know how to stay alive out there. We know how to light a fire, we know how to defend ourselves against wolves and we know how to hunt and feed ourselves. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t look convinced, but before he could open his mouth, Wanda interrupted.

“You can take the two Thermos flasks we found a few days ago,” she said quietly. He looked at her and she shrugged. “Might as well use them.” He grinned and vowed to thank her later. She’d been the last to join their group, having lost her brother in the initial chaos after the storm, and it had taken her a while to warm up to them and actively get involved in their conversations. 

“I can stay, if you want me to.” He turned around at the sound of Bucky’s voice. 

“Nope,” Steve answered. He hadn’t said anything up until now, but Barnes’ proposal seemed to have made him speak up. “You go. I’m fine.” He nodded his head rigorously, making his floppy hair bob. 

“Are you sure?” Barnes asked with a frown. “I can-“ 

Steve interrupted. “No you can’t. I’m fine and Clint needs you more than I do right now.” Clint had to give him credit for his determination. Ever since him and Natasha had met the three of them, Steve hadn’t had more than a few days of reprieve between one fever, cold or asthma attack after another. And their need to ration the food hadn’t done him any favours, that much was certain. 

Bucky had stayed with Steve during every episode; had fed the younger man when he couldn’t feed himself. He’d even kept him warm when the only heating they had was the canon stove in the kitchen and the fireplace in the living room. 

So Steve telling Barnes to leave on a quest that could very well end with both of the participants dead spoke of absolute trust, something not many couples could call their own. 

Bucky scowled at his feet and sat down next to Steve. The smaller only patted his shoulder consolingly. 

“You can take the ski goggles, too,” Sam said. “We only have a few of them, after all, and saving them for later would be stupid anyway.” 

Natasha still looked doubtful, but she nodded reluctantly. “There are a lot of essential things we need that you could look for. I’ll write you a list.” Clint already started to relax, but before she left the room to start their preparations, she turned around and shot him an icy glare. "Just because I was outvoted doesn't mean I think you should go. Don't you dare get killed, Clint Barton." With a flick of her red hair, she vanished out of the door and Clint gulped. If his own survival instincts wouldn't be enough to save him, the fear of Natasha's fury would. 

**~**

They decided to head out as soon as possible, so they wouldn’t lose any more time. The sun was only just rising when they stepped out of the house the next morning.

“Matches, tinder, firewood?” Natasha asked.

“Check, check, check,” Clint answered, ticking the items off his gloved fingers.

“Rations, Thermos, ski goggles?”

“Yup.”

“Weapons, first aid kit?”

“I have my bow, Barnes has the revolver and we both have our hunting knives. And yes, check.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and she returned the half hug. “We’ll be careful, so don’t worry.”

The only answer he got was a snort and he shrugged internally. He’d known he wouldn’t get much more from his stoic friend. He turned around and gave the waiting Barnes a nod. 

Bucky returned it and raised his voice. “Alright, we’re off, then. If everything goes well, we’ll be back in a week, two at most.” He’d already said goodbye to Steve and for a second, Clint wondered why they hadn’t exchanged a more heartfelt farewell. He figured they just valued their privacy. It was hard finding some peace and quiet when you lived in a house with five other people and couldn’t go outside without the threat of either wolves or frostbite.

Clint caught Wanda giving him a worried smile and sent her a cheery wink. He’d be fine. Maybe. Probably. But worrying wouldn’t do her any good, anyways. 

“Remember the clothes!” Sam called before they could turn their back to the farmhouse. He’d told them to find as much warm and sturdy clothing as they could, and with good reason. They weren’t particularly well equipped for the harsh weather, especially if they wanted all six of them to have their own warm gear. Besides, one wolf could shred through several layers with ease, so they had to plan for destroyed clothing as well. 

Clint gave one last wave before he finally turned and started marching. He and Bucky had decided to head north-east, the direction they had last spotted game. He could already see the plateau in the distance, although he wasn’t sure how they’d get up there. None of them had ventured that far from their safe house.

He heard Barnes fall into step behind him, moving through the cleft in the snow blanket Clint had left for him. They didn’t speak, the only sounds coming from the crunching of snow under their boots and the wind rustling through the bare trees. Soon, the farmhouse vanished behind a hill and they crossed the frozen river. It would flow north and meet a bigger one going from west to east, where they’d have to cross it again. When they made it up the rise on the other side, a snow covered field stretched out before them. Clint could barely make out the red barn in the far distance. 

This must have been a pasture, once upon a time, he thought. The snow covered most of the landmarks, but they had found the remains of wooden fences and a structure that could have been a rickyard. 

He didn’t like being so exposed, but crossing the pasture was the fastest route to where they thought the game would be. It was just… he’d already made out several dark spots standing out starkly against the white. Moving. It looked like they wouldn’t be evading the wolves today. Behind the scarf covering the lower part of his face, he licked his lips nervously. 

“Move it, Barton,” Barnes grunted behind him and Clint startled. He’d forgotten his company completely. With reluctance, he stepped forward, keeping an eye on the wolves. 

“This way.” Barnes' hand came up and pointed at a group of trees half a mile north of them. Only his cheekbones and eyes were visible, the rest hidden behind layers of scarves and wool hats, and for a second, Clint couldn’t look away. “We’ll give them a wide berth and sneak through the sparse undergrowth over there. If we manage not to make a sound and the wind doesn’t shift, we’ll get past them.”

Clint hummed in acceptance. Better than just facing them head-on, that was clear. He signed at Bucky to lead the way and followed in the other man’s steps. Just in case, he grabbed the bow hanging from his backpack as well as an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He didn’t want to be caught unprepared if they failed to stay silent.

Slowly, they crept around the wolves. Clint had started noticing strange behaviour coming from the local wildlife lately. The wolves they encountered were almost never seen in packs. He knew that lone wolves were common, but that common? Something had disrupted their lives just like it had disrupted the human’s. And it had all started with that storm of lights, the one that had killed all electrical appliances in their area. Maybe all around the world. 

Which would explain why help hadn’t arrived and mostly likely never would. 

He could see three shapes moving around the frozen pasture, keeping close together. If the pack spotted them, they were done for. 

Bucky stopped behind the cover of a fallen fir and Clint knelt down next to him, panting. As warm as the two layers of pants and coats he wore were, they didn’t allow for a lot of movement, leaving him sweating in the snow. Barnes, the bastard, didn’t seem to be fazed at all. 

“See the tree line over there?” he whispered and Clint nodded his answer. They’d have to cross another wide open space to get to the actual forest. The wolf pack hadn’t moved closer, at least. 

“We’ll go slow, try not to attract their attention.” 

**~**

Only a few minutes later, they had reached the tree line, moving fast and keeping low. Only when the pack was out of sight did Clint’s heart slow down again. He sighed. He wasn’t fucking used to all this stress. He’d come to Great Bear Island looking for a week of calm, relaxing ice fishing with his best friend and what he had gotten was the goddamn fucking apoclypse. He’ll never go on vacation ever again, and not just because he’ll probably never get the chance to now. 

Bucky’s still silent and all Clint can do is stare at his back and follow in his steps. His feet are already pretty damp and he’s praying that if they manage to find some footwear, it’ll be sturdy, warm, and completely waterproof. 

Not really one to enjoy the extended silence, he tried to find something they could talk about. Problem is, he and Bucky didn't really know each other. Ever since their two groups collided and Wanda joined them, Bucky had spent all his free time either caring for or simply hanging out with Steve. Clint got it, he really did; when you’re in love with someone, you want to spend as much time with them as possible. Especially when you were forced to come to terms with your own mortality. 

If Clint wanted terse silence, he’d go hang out with one of the frozen corpses they had found last week, but Barnes didn't seem like the type who'd favour small talk and with their mouths covered, Clint had a hard time following. So he kept his mouth shut.

Instead, he tracked the sun in the sky. Here, the days were short. The sun rose late and set early, leaving them less than ten hours of daylight, in his estimate. Ten hours that had to be filled with hunting, cooking, and scavenging, with maintenance, crafting, and wood chopping. Because as soon as the sun set and the light was gone, staying outside became inadvisable; lowering temperatures and dangerous wildlife saw to that. 

They had no electricity, not anymore, so after sunset, all they had was each other and the low, flickering firelight. The farmhouse they occupied had three bedrooms, all spouting an assortment of single beds, a bunk bed and one twin bed. Just enough for their group of six. Natasha shared a room with Wanda, Clint bunked with Sam and Steve and Bucky had gotten the double. 

So when the sun was gone and it got colder, they usually migrated to their beds.

With surprise, Clint noted that they had been walking for an hour or two, going by the sun’s position. And they hadn’t even gotten that far. Soon, they would need to rest and reorient; if the weather didn’t force them to stop before that. 

They had started early, when the sky had been clear and only a small breeze had ruffled their clothes. Now, though, there were clouds moving quickly to cover the sun and the wind had picked up, stiffening their limbs and tearing at their clothes. 

Clint threw a look at Barnes’ back to check if the other man was still in front of him then turned his head to the north, where the clouds were densest. He could faintly make out the thin veil of snow in the air. Hopefully, it wouldn’t snow too much or they would have to slow down. He cast his eyes forward again. 

“Go round or climb down?” Barnes asked when they reached the river again, making sure his mouth was visible and he had Clint's eye, as the other came to a stop next to him. In front of them, rocks were covering a steep incline. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate when it came to climbing, but normally he wouldn’t be carrying a 60 pound backpack while his range of movement was severely restricted by his clothing. 

Looking back to the clouds moving rapidly closer, he knew they didn’t have a choice. The weather would shift soon, they were nowhere close to shelter and if they wasted time looking for another way to cross, they could end up getting caught in a blizzard. In times like these, he missed the weather forecast the most.

“Climb down,” he replied and Barnes nodded. Together, they slowly made their way down the uneven, slippery ground until they had to stop again. “I’ll go first,” Clint said. “I’ll leave my backpack up here and when I’m down, throw both and follow.” Barnes only grunted in response.

Clint shrugged his backpack off and stepped closer to the ledge. They’d have to navigate down several boulders that were framing the river bed and from the look of it, it wouldn’t be easy. With one leap, he reached an outcrop that brought him closer to the ground and grimaced at the pull the movement caused on his clothes. He really hoped he hadn‘t ripped anything. 

Another leap and he stumbled against the cliffside, gloved hands frantically searching for something to steady him. With a curse, he righted himself. Clint threw a look over his shoulder. Barnes was watching him and what he could see of the other‘s face seemed unmoved. _Barton, please don‘t embarrass yourself_ , he thought. 

He inched closer to the ledge again and glanced down. A drop of about six feet lay below him. He could do that. He crouched down, gripped the ledge beneath him and swung himself off the boulder. His feet connected with a thud and as his knees bent, to his horror, there was a tearing sound. He didn‘t need to look down to see that part of his ski pants‘ inseam had ripped open; he felt it by the pinpricks of icy cold that suddenly assaulted the inside of his thigh. He wore two layers of thermals underneath, but the sudden gust of cold air was still unwelcome.

With a groan, he stood up. Of course that had happened. On the first day of travel, in front of Bucky fucking Barnes, no less. He groaned again. Sure, the pants had been on the older side and kinda tight anyway, but he couldn‘t afford _holes_ in them. Not if he wanted to keep his fun parts, that was. 

He looked up and gave Barnes a wave. A second later, his backpack hit him in the chest. Wheezing, he caught it before it dropped to the ice below his feet. “The fuck!” he yelled up.

“What?” Bucky called back, mouth uncovered. “You gave me the sign.”

“It was an ‘I’m alive’ sign,” Clint grumbled under his breath. Louder he called, “Just get down here.” He had the foresight to catch the next bag hurled at him, at least. 

**~**

Hours later, they had a problem. 

“I don’t know where to go from here,” Barnes grunted. They’d been steadily walking towards the plateau and now that they had reached it, they had no way of getting up there. Rocky cliffs and steep slopes of snow separated them from their destination.

“Maybe if we follow the cliff for a bit, we’ll find a way up.” Clint hadn’t expected to succeed on the first day and return home with almost no effort, but failing here would be a little embarrassing. If they managed to find another way, they might still lose a day or more. 

“We could turn around, forget about heading north-east and look for big game somewhere else,” Barnes suggested. 

Clint frowned. “The rest of the valley is swept clean, I’m sure of that. Somehow, the deers have all gone elsewhere.” Or been killed off, but that was an option he didn’t like to think about. “So we have to get up there.” He wasn’t looking forward to more traipsing through the thick snow, but, at this point, they couldn't make it to shelter behind them and the sun would be gone soon. They had to keep going forward; might as well search for a way up and shelter for the night at the same time.

“To the east or to the west?” he asked. Bucky turned away from the rock wall in front of them and towards Clint. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

Clint grinned. “If I win, we’ll head east. If you win, west.”

“Deal.” 

Bucky threw rock, Clint threw scissors. 

**~**

“Not that I want to complain,” Clint yelled over the howling wind sometime later, “but if we don’t find shelter soon, we might actually freeze to death!” He couldn’t tell if Bucky had heard him, so he lurched forward and grabbed his parka from behind.

Bucky jerked to a stop and turned, a question in his eyes. 

“I said,” Clint shouted, “if we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll die!” The sun was almost gone by now and the weather had taken a turn for the much worse. Wind was whipping around his face, tearing at his clothes, stealing the last of warmth he had managed to keep from the cold. They’d put on their ski masks, just to be able to see without being blinded by the snow blown at them.

Bucky just kept staring at him and Clint frowned. “What?” he shouted. There was the tiniest movement behind Barnes mask. Clint grimaced. He had about zero chance of making out what Bucky was trying to tell him, with the cacophony of sounds all around them. 

Comprehension dawned on Barnes’ face and he stepped closer. Before Clint could tense up and flinch back, there was a gloved hand covering his left ear and a shock of warm air on his right. “I think I know where we are!” Bucky yelled over the noise. “I’ve been here before!” 

Clint would really, really like to believe that they weren’t just aimlessly walking around until they would inevitably succumb to the cold, especially when the assurance came from such a pretty face, but he didn’t think he wanted to bet his life on a mere hunch. Barnes, meanwhile, had drawn back and pulled the layers of scarves back over his mouth. 

Clint’s heart was racing in his chest. 

**~**

Just when the last bit of sunlight had drained from the sky, Bucky came to a sudden stop. Before Clint could open his mouth behind the scarf covering it, Barnes turned, grabbed his arm and pulled. Then, he started running, with Clint stumbling along beside him. 

Bucky changed their direction slightly to the right and finally, Clint could see it too. The tiniest hut he’d ever seen, hidden behind the bare branches of a hedge, flanked by the rocks cliffside. No wonder he’d never spotted it on his roamings before.

Bucky pulled the door open forcefully and shoved Clint inside. The hut only had one room, which was just about big enough for a bed, a dresser and an arm chair to fit in. Now that the wind wasn’t tearing or howling at him anymore, Clint felt disconnected for a second. Bucky pulled the door shut behind them with a resounding bang and Clint blinked himself back to the present.

The air in here wasn't much warmer than it the outside but without the wind, he felt infinitely better. He dropped his backpack to the floor next to the chair, unclasped the storm lantern they’d found in the farmhouse’s basement and lit it. There wasn't an actual fireplace, just a blackened brick hollow in one side of the cabin with a metal flue above it. A small pile of firewood lay beside it, not enough to last the night, but it would be enough to raise the temperature to a habitable level.

“Looks like we’ll have to share, Barnes.” He nodded towards the single bed.

Bucky just shrugged, opening his coat. “Better than sharing with Steve.” Clint felt like he should question this, but the long march and the storm were taking its toll on his ability to produce coherent sentences.

Hastily, he stripped off his coat - it had moved past wet into frozen territory long ago - and threw it over the back of the wooden chair. He pulled his gloves from stiff and aching fingers with a curse, trying to keep them steady enough to start a fire, but try as he might, he couldn’t light a match with the way his hands shook. He cursed again. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and Barnes crouched down beside him. “Let me.” He reached out, a lighter in his hand, lit the tinder and in no time at all, Clint felt the first wisps of warmth curling around his fingers.

He groaned. “You still have that? I ran out of lighter fluid last week.”

Bucky just gave him a smug grin.

It was only when he dragged his ski pants off that Clint remembered the tear on his inner thigh. He groaned again. 

“What is it?” came the question from the other side of the room. 

“I ripped my pants,” Clint mumbled. It wasn’t every day that he had to tell the good looking guy in his friend group that he’d had an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction, but it happened more frequently than he was comfortable with. 

Bucky held his hand out. “Can I see? Maybe I can mend it tomorrow.” Clint shrugged and handed it over. It wasn’t like he could do it himself. He’d probably manage to stab himself to death with a sewing needle.

“Man, how did you manage not to get frostbite on your junk?” Bucky asked, inspecting the tear. “I’d offer to check for you in case you aren’t flexible enough to do it yourself.” He raised his head and threw Clint a wink. 

“I think I’d feel that,” Clint laughed, “also, I’m plenty flexible, thank you very much.” In the low light, he could barely make out the crinkle of Barnes' eyes. This must have been the longest conversation they’d had all day. Or maybe ever. He realised belatedly that talking about getting his junk checked out wasn’t the best conversation topic to have with a taken man.

Bucky put the garment down on the chair as well, careful to spread it so it could dry during the night, and walked around the bed. He prodded at the bedding with his hand. “We should add our sleeping bags. I’ve no idea how long the fire will last.”

**~**

The next morning, Clint was reluctantly dragged out of his slumber by movement on the other side of the bed. He’d been careful about staying on his side all night, didn’t want to unwittingly cross any boundaries that might make Bucky uncomfortable around him. Being wrapped in his sleeping bag was probably the only thing that had kept him from claiming the whole bed or crawling over to look for warmth.

A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his contemplations, causing him to make some strange sound, part moan, part groan, part ‘what the fuck do you want’. 

“Barton.” Another shake. He moaned again. “Barton, I know for a fact that you slept for like, ten hours. Get up.”

“I have twenty years of rough sleep to make up for. Shut up," he growled. 

"Get the fuck up, Barton. I repaired your pants for you, you ungrateful ass."

Clint blinked his eyes open in bewilderment. He didn't know who he'd been expecting to him, but it certainly hadn't been Barnes. Slowly, he raised his head from the dusty pillow. 

"It's still dark outside!" he protested. 

Barnes, leaning over him, rolled his eyes. "The days are really fucking short here and you've slept long enough. Get up." With that, he straightened and put the storm lantern he was holding on the dresser standing against the wall. 

With a groan, Clint rolled himself out of bed - and as soon as he left the protection of the blanket and his sleeping bag, tried to crawl back inside. Only the tight clamp of Bucky's hand on his collar kept him in the cold. 

His teeth chattering, Clint stuffed his gloved hands in his armpits and hunched over. "You're a cruel, cruel man."

The low light hid most of Barnes’ features, but he could still make out the lopsided smirk. "You'll get used to it," Bucky said. Clint really, really doubted that. 

**~**

Hefting his backpack with a huff, Clint asked, "Did you check for any hidden supplies in here?" They'd gotten ready in record time, which wasn't hard considering they'd slept in most of their clothes, and were now preparing to leave the tiny cabin and the shelter it provided. 

"I've been here before and took everything with me when I left," Barnes answered. "There's nothing here." He opened the door, stuck his head out and flinched backwards, slamming the door shut again. With a raised eyebrow, Clint waited for the verdict. 

After a few seconds, Bucky turned around and looked at him in contrition. "It is insanely cold out there."

Worried, Clint squeezed past his companion and cracked the door open. Just like Barnes, he flinched back immediately. "We'll freeze to death before we get anywhere," he mumbled. 

Behind him, Barnes huffed. "We can make a fire somewhere, it won't be so bad. Maybe we can run to warm up?" To Clint's ears, he sounded as worried as Clint was, but there was nothing they could do about their situation. They couldn't stay here and just wait for warmer weather either. 

Taking one last warm breath, he shoved the door open and left their shelter. 

**~**

It took only a few minutes to make Clint's throat hurt from the freezing cold air he inhaled and he could feel his eyelashes turn into tiny icicles. He was huffing and puffing, straining under the weight of his backpack and the restricted range of movement his clothes provided. Behind him, he could hear Barnes' laboured breathing and concluded that the other wasn't faring much better. 

The sun had barely risen over the horizon and walking on the frozen river, cliffs on either side, didn't leave them much protection against the cold and the wind that once again tore at their clothes. They'd managed to find the main arm of the river again and were now following it eastwards. Soon, it would split into two, one going south, flowing right past the farmhouse, and the other would keep heading east. 

Out of breath after only a couple of minutes, he slowed his pace, panting. 

"Come on, Barton!" Barnes called as he ran past him and Clint cursed the man profusely.

"Give me a break, Barnes, this backpack is heavy as shit!" 

Bucky laughed, muffled by the fabric covering his mouth and nose, now running backwards to keep facing Clint. "Yeah no shit, that's what the army does to punish its recruits."

"Oh, leave me alone!" With a groan, Clint forced himself into a light jog. The run had at least gotten his blood flowing and he felt his muscles relax from their previous trembling. Maybe they wouldn't die of hypothermia, after all. 

Bucky slowed his pace to let him catch up and together, they jogged another mile until Clint gave up at last. 

"I don't care what you think of me now, I'm done," he panted, resting his hands on his knees. He'd always considered himself an athlete, but compared to Barnes he felt like the unathletic kid running after his classmates during PE.

Bucky chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm just better at hiding my pain than you are." And when Clint laughed breathlessly, he knocked their shoulders together. 

**~**

Eventually, even exercise couldn't keep them warm for more than a minute and since they couldn't keep running until it was warm enough to slow down, they decided to light a fire and take an early lunch break. Not having eaten breakfast in order to ration their food, they were both equally starved. They left the river when the cliffs gave way to a steep incline and chose a close by rocky overhang to light a fire under. 

Before Bucky could start fishing food out of his bag, Clint held up his hand and pressed his index finger to his lips. He wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he thought he'd seen movement between the bare branches of a thicket. Bucky stilled his hands and watched Clint with curious eyes. 

Slowly, Clint bent down and picked a few small, snow covered pebbles from the ground. "You get the fire going, I'll bring the food," he breathed, as quiet as he could, and unhooked his bow and quiver from his backpack. Bucky nodded and Clint felt his eyes on his back all the way up the incline. 

He might have been here before, felt a weak tug on his memories just looking at how the trees had arranged themselves, at how the boulders huddled against each other. He took a few steps, as silent as he could make them, and swept his surroundings with his eyes. 

There! A movement in the same thicket he'd spotted earlier. The pebble sailed through the air and landed two feet from the snow rabbit, startling it from its foraging. It bolted in the opposite direction, zigzagging through the snow, but even the pure white pelt couldn't save it. 

The arrow whistled through the air, pierced the rabbit's eye socket and nailed the little thing to the frozen ground. 

**~**

He returned to Bucky and a small, crackling fire with two skinny rabbits, after finding another not much later. 

"Not bad, Barton," Bucky greeted him with raised eyebrows, having spotted the kill swinging from Clint's hands. 

The archer dropped it by the fire with a grin. "Right?" He flopped down on the hard ground, put his weapons aside and stripped his gloves off. "Have you ever gutted and skinned an animal, Barnes?"

"Uh," Barnes mumbled, eyes on the knife Clint took to the biggest rabbit's hide, "does fish count?" 

"Well, it's a little different, but it counts. Although this is more disgusting." The sound of flesh tearing made Clint grimace. He didn't enjoy this any more than Bucky, going on the man's revolted expression, but he was glad he'd known how to do this before ending up in the quiet apocalypse, even though his knowledge had been limited to theory only. Nonetheless, he and Nat might not have made it past the first week, might never have met the rest of their little, cozy group of misfits, without them figuring out how to hunt and skin. 

"I always leave the dirty work to Steve." Bucky raised his right hand and pointed at his non-existent left arm. 

Clint laughed. "You leave the worst part of survival to the guy constantly sick and stuck indoors? You're a mean motherfucker, Barnes." 

Bucky grinned back at him wryly. "Sparing him will only serve to make him that much more determined to 'pull his weight'. He feels like he's not contributing enough, so why shouldn't I give him more work?" 

Clint had to stop his hands for the risk of cutting his fingers, shaking from the laughter. He could just imagine small, stubborn Steve demanding to be included in chores and deadpan, always serious, Bucky Barnes piling more and more shit on him. He'd like to see it in person one day.

"Do you have the -" Before Clint could answer, the clang of a metal pan meeting stone made him look up. "Thanks." Done with the first rabbit, Clint skewered the rabbit on a thin, long branch he'd picked up earlier and hung it over the dancing fire. Barnes had done a pretty good job with it, he had to agree. 

In the meantime, Bucky had opened one of their cans of Pork and Beans and filled it in the cooking pot he'd put on a large, flat stone lying close to the fire. It was improvisation in its purest form, but somehow, it had kept them alive. 

Clint started on the second rabbit, revelling in the companionable silence. Only when he dropped the second tattered hide to the ground did Bucky break it.

"You do that a lot?" the man grunted.

Confused, Clint looked from him to his hands, now positioned to go through with the evisceration of the poor animal. "You mean gutting rabbits?" Bucky only grunted and Clint had to fight down a smirk. "Or do you mean inserting my fingers in various colons to stay alive?" 

A plethora of expressions, one more memorable than the other, crossed Bucky’s face and Clint would bet all he had - which wasn't much at this point - that the reddish tint that remained in his cheeks didn't come from the cold alone. 

"You're horrible," Bucky mumbled finally, face looking vaguely haunted. Clint guffawed.

**~**

They ended up mixing the grilled rabbit meat with the warmed up Pork and Beans, wrapping the leftover meat in a plastic bag, and afterwards agreed that it had been a feast for kings. When they finally extinguished the fire and left the covered remains of their food behind for the scavengers to find, the meagre sunlight had warmed their surroundings enough to warrant heading into the cold again without risking their limbs. 

They still followed the river, where they would be harder to be detected by any predator roaming the area. Underneath their feet, the ice crackled with every step. It had taken Clint quite a while to get used to walking on ice without worrying about how thick it was or where to put his feet. Nowadays, he'd drive a car over this river without blinking an eye - that was, if he ever found a functioning one and not just one of the broken down vehicles lining the country road. 

They wandered in silence, each caught up in their own thoughts. Clint gave Barnes a quick glance. He wondered what the other was thinking, already bored by the perpetual silence. He brought up the first topic that came to mind. 

"What's it like having only one arm?" he asked, thinking of his ears. He'd never used hearing aids, even though he probably should have, so at least he didn't have to get used to losing something so vital on top of everything else. Barnes' prosthetic had supposedly shorted out the second every other electrical appliance in the area had; when the lights appeared for the first time. 

Back then, they had thought it was just another Aurora Borealis, something that they were told was rare on Great Bear Island, but also not unheard of. Their joy and elation at having seen something so beautiful had quickly moved to confusion and fear when they had tried to take a picture and discovered that none of their cell phones or cameras worked. And not just their phones; the radio, the electric heater, the truck. Everything was dead and Natasha and Clint were stranded in a cabin next to a frozen lake, far from any civilization and far from safety. Suffice it to say that the relaxed winter vacation he'd talked Nat into taking hadn't taken the best of turns.

Barnes’ answer to his question tore him out of his memories. "Like only having one arm."

Clint blinked in confusion and stared at the side of Bucky's face. Huh. Then, he shrugged. If the guy didn't want to talk about it, Clint wouldn't push. 

**~**

They decided to take shelter under a derelict, wooden bridge crossing a stream joining their river from the north. The river would soon change directions, heading south, and if they followed it, they'd reach a small town called Thompson's Crossing. But since their group had gone and taken everything usable on several trips long before Bucky and Clint set out on their journey, he didn't have much hope of finding anything worthwhile there. 

So they'd have to leave the comfortable shelter of the riverbed soon, to find a way up the plateau and hopefully, to find what they were looking for. 

"You want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?" Bucky asked, spreading his bedroll out, and Clint chortled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Barnes' mouth tilting up slightly.

"Sadly, I have to decline your generous offer of body heat, but I think we'll be fine as long as the fire doesn't go out," he retorted, false courtesy dripping from his words.

Bucky pulled a sad face and batted his eyelashes at Clint. "But what if the fire does go out and we freeze to death in our sleep? You'll be sorry, then."

Clint just laughed and threw a clump of snow at him. If someone had told him he'd be so comfortable around Bucky after only two days of travelling with him, he'd have scoffed and told them to get their head checked out. But here they were, joking around. Go figure. 

Bucky batted the snow out of the air. "I'm serious, though. I don't think we have enough firewood to keep warm all night."

"Give me your hatchet, then," Clint said and gestured towards Bucky's backpack. "You get the food ready."

**~**

Halfway through the night, Clint cursed himself for not taking Bucky up on his offer. He hadn't gotten more than an hour of sleep in one stretch, always worried about the fire winking out while they slept, leaving them to die without even realising. 

He got up several times to check on the fire, to keep it as strong and hot as possible and every time his consciousness resurfaced during the night, he startled himself out of his rest to see if it was still there. He didn’t know if Barnes had the same problem, but he hoped that at least one of them had a restful night. 

**~**

The rocky cliffs they had kept on their left side for the last day had slowly changed into steep, snowy inclines and while they could follow the river until they found an easy way up, they decided to save themselves the time and try to climb up. 

Now, they didn't exactly have any gear suitable for this sort of endeavour and Bucky especially had a hard time of keeping himself on track, often unable to grab a tree trunk or a rock before the snow underneath him gave out and dragged him down, leaving him to have to redo lengths of progress he'd spent a long time making.

Concerned, Clint watched Bucky. He'd found a comfortable place to rest wedged between a fir tree and the steep ground and he figured that they still had a good sixty feet ahead of them. But Bucky already looked downright exhausted, as well as pissed off. 

"Maybe we should take a break," Clint called down, but Bucky ignored him. Or maybe he hadn't heard him, because Clint hadn't pitched his voice right. He grimaced. "Bucky?"

"I'm fine!" The other yelled back from below, heaving himself up to sit on a jagged rock. "I don't need a break!" 

Clint would really, really like to dispute that and he sent Barnes a reproachful look. He huffed and crossed his arms as well as he could. _Let the moron be stubborn_ , he thought. 

“You’re being very Steve about this!”

The glare Bucky gave him in return could kill a mammoth on sight. 

**~**

Thankfully, Barnes hadn't broken any bones on his slow climb, but they had lost a maddening amount of time, which meant that they wouldn't have more than a few hours to walk and then find shelter and, if they could, food. They still had a few cans, but they'd come to the unspoken agreement to stretch that reserve as much as they could. 

Clint managed to sleep through the night this time, and he didn't even freeze to death.

**~**

The next day dawned bright and clear. It was unusually warm when they started walking, which didn't mean all that much; ' _unusually warm_ ' for Great Bear Island in winter still meant ' _absolutely deadly_ ' if one didn't pay attention. 

A sight before them stopped them dead in their tracks. 

Ahead, the road they were following, which wasn't much more than a gouge in the otherwise even blanket of snow, parted. The main road kept going straight, while a smaller one disappeared into the tree-covered hills north, on their right side. But that wasn't what had caught their attention.

A group of old, broken down cars blocked the second, smaller road and it took several more steps for them to realise that the wrecks weren't the only obstacle. 

The corpse was face-down in the snow. It wasn't the first one Clint had seen since the breakdown - hell, it wasn't even the first he'd seen in his life - but just stumbling over a human body in the wild creeped him out more than anything else could. He averted his eyes and swore when he saw another shape inside one of the cars.

"Clint -" Bucky tried to say, but Clint was faster. His backpack dropped down next to the car, he wrenched the frozen door open and - 

He swore again. 

The man was dead. Of course he was.

Bucky stepped up next to him. "He must have died in his sleep." He could only nod. The man must have entered the car in search of shelter, but hadn't factored in how cold the inside would get at night. Clint was still staring at the corpse, expecting it to open it's frozen eyes any second now an,d weirdly, he couldn't turn away from the gruesome sight. At least this fellow looked better than his friend, the one in the snow, because that one looked like he'd had several encounters with the local wildlife. 

A low murmur and the crunch of snow snatched him out of his trance. He turned his head and watched as Bucky approached the first body. Barnes' backpack hit the ground a second later.

"Clint, I need you to look at this," Bucky said in a low voice. 

Clint gulped and joined the other next to the body. "What?" He kept his eyes firmly on the intact part of the poor man, refusing to stare at the gaping wounds marring the body.

Barnes only pointed his gloved finger towards the dead man's head and Clint bit his lip to keep himself from cursing again. There was a small, round hole in the back of the guy's head, almost completely hidden by his dark hair. 

"He was shot," said Clint and Bucky nodded. "What do you think happened here?"

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe there was a disagreement. Maybe he screwed someone over, maybe they just wanted his gear. I can't say. But we know that there are people in the area who aren't above murder."

Clint looked around, but the continuous snowfall during the last few days made any kind of tracking impossible. He couldn't tell if there'd been a struggle or if the man had been surprised by his attacker, he couldn't even tell if there'd been more than one. Everything was covered in a thick layer of snow, making the murder scene look morbidly tranquil and serene.

He distinctly wondered about the time of death. The body couldn't have been here more than a few days; the bones hadn't been picked clean by roaming scavengers yet. 

He frowned when a thought occurred to him. "What about the guy in the car, though?" He gestured towards the second body weakly.

"I dunno. Could have been here for weeks and we wouldn't be able to tell." Bucky stood up and bent to brush snow off his knees. Clint only huffed in acknowledgement. 

"How about we do not stay here for the night?" Clint asked.

Bucky smiled at the petulant tone of his voice and inclined his head. "I'd rather not. You never know what we'd see here after dark." 

"Fuck, Barnes!" Clint shoved his shoulder, but Bucky only grinned. "As if the dead bodies aren't creepy enough already." 

**~**

They searched the cars before leaving and found a set of leather gloves, a few torn rags and a bag of beef jerky under one of the car seats, and Clint whooped out loud when he'd spotted it. It was totally worth Bucky's panicked hiss to quiet down. 

They took the food and left everything else and Clint took notes on a slip of paper Sam had specifically given him for this exact purpose; to write down where to find things they wouldn't be able to take with them. And who knew, the leather gloves and rags might one day be desperately needed. 

**~**

Frankly, Clint was sick of spending the nights outside, and he would bet the beef jerky on Bucky feeling the same. He was sick of worrying about whether the fire would die and leave them without protection against the biting cold or the prowling wolves and he half expected to be woken up by teeth ripping through his neck every time he put his head on his bedroll.

So he closed his eyes and thanked a god he didn't believe in when the next house they came across, as broken down and derelict as it was, had a basement.

Looking around, he noted that it wasn't the only house in a similar state, because only a hundred feet away, there were the burned remains of what must have been someone's home once. He briefly wondered whether whatever had happened here, happened before or after the lights.

The sounds of Bucky kicking debris and snow off the metal hatch drew him back to reality and he blinked, trying to clear his head. They were at the very edge of the plateau now and looking down into the valley, Clint had to suppress the urge to wave towards the farmhouse in the distance, no more than a dark spot between all that blinding white. 

The hatch opened with an ear splitting screech and both men grimaced. Beyond the hatch, only meager light made it through the snow crusted window. Clint swept his gaze over the sparse furniture. A metal shelf, a washing machine, a dryer and - 

He sprang forward and almost ripped the hinges off the... - empty freezer. He closed it with a sign. Of course there wouldn't be anything left, not after so many weeks and so many hungry people in the valley. Shit. 

Meanwhile, Bucky had divested himself of his backpack and outer layers and started stretching his, no doubt, aching back. Clint tore his eyes away before Bucky could catch him staring. Again. Because as taken as Bucky was and as much as Clint respected that, Barnes was also hotter than the goddamn sun so it was completely natural for Clint to enjoy the sight now and then, right?

He groaned when the weight of his pack left his shoulders. "Not that I don't enjoy this little trip of ours, but the travel organisation could really do something about the comfort." All in all, he didn't hate the whole thing as much as he thought he would. Bucky was surprisingly easy to get along with and Clint could see the merits of not having to travel alone, but the long marches, the cold and the inadequate provisions had left him feeling drained and exhausted. 

Bucky only snorted behind him and Clint dropped onto his bedroll, ready to doze off at any second. A minute later, something soft smacked him in the face. 

"Pillow," Bucky grunted when Clint held up the thin hoodie in confusion. The blond shrugged, stuffed it under his head and closed his eyes again. 

He began to float. He was tired, so tired and - 

Bucky kicked his side. Clint scowled without opening his eyes.

"The fuck Barnes?" he mumbled, trying to get back to that warm, sweet place where nothing hurt.

"Are you really gonna sleep like that?" 

"Yeah." He rolled, hugging his arms around himself to keep the warmth where he needed it. 

There was a quiet exhalation above him, before the floor on both of his sides vibrated. "Huh?" Clint opened his eyes, but before he could do much else, a hand gripped the collar of his jacket, pulling down the zipper. 

"Whoa!" He batted at the offending hand, shivering when a cold gust of air met the now bared skin of his throat. 

"You gotta undress at least a little before sleeping, Clint," Bucky said, eyes fixed on where his warm hand pushed the jacket off Clint's shoulder, brushing the sensitive skin of the blond's neck. Clint shivered for an entirely different reason now. 

"Damn, Barnes," he mumbled and sat up, prompting Bucky to step away from him or risk getting a forehead to the crotch. Clint bit his cheek to get rid of that particular image. "What would Steve say?" 

In the dim light, he could see Bucky roll his eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, Steve ain't a saint."

A jolt went through Clint, accompanied by a feeling Clint ruthlessly pushed down. His next grin was lopsided and forced. "No need to talk about your relationship troubles, Barnes." 

Bucky scoffed.

With a groan, Clint got to his feet and struggled out of his clothing until he only had his long underwear and pullover left. He slipped into his sleeping bag and sighed when he felt it slowly warm up. He yawned and closed his eyes, pushing down his curiosity. He wasn't a snoop, he didn't enjoy gossip, but by god, for a second there, Clint had felt hopeful. 

Hopeful that Steve maybe wasn't the perfect partner, that maybe his and Bucky's relationship wasn't all that stable. He dragged the cloth of the bedroll up and buried his face in it, willing the thoughts to leave him alone. 

Another set of vibrations near him, as well as the edge of his bedroll being ripped out of his fingers, tore him out of his sleepy daze. For the second time.

"Bucky!" he whined, drawing out the last syllable. "Let me sleep, dammit."

"Just zipping our sleeping bags together," a quiet voice mumbled next to him. 

"Aww, you want to cuddle?" Clint blamed his slurred words on the fact that he was eighty percent asleep and a hundred percent exhausted. 

Bucky chuckled. "If it keeps us from freezing our dicks off, why not." There was more rustling, but Clint couldn't be bothered to open his eyes. But he did twitch when something soft pressed into the back of his legs.

"Hm?"

"Your clothes," the voice said. There was a few seconds of pause. "I wiped the water off your boots so they're not frozen to the floor tomorrow."

Clint hummed. "God, Barnes, you're such a mother hen." 

"Nothing motherly about this." A warm breath ruffled the hair on Clint's temple, but he was already too far gone to think about the feeling it caused. 

"You tell yourself that," he slurred. There was no answer and finally, he drifted off for good. 


	2. Chapter 2

"I spy with my little eye-"

"Snow."

"Dammit."

"I spy with -"

"Snow."

"Damn, you're good."

"We need better games, man." Bucky sighed and hefted the straps of his backpack high on his shoulder. 

The morning after hadn't been quite as awkward as it could have been, Clint supposed, be it because Clint barely remembered Bucky's warmth or because Bucky didn't think sharing a bed, or rather bedroll, with another person was any reason to be awkward at all. 

Therefore, they'd started the day like any other, namely, by bitching about the cold, cleaning up their camp and devouring the few bits of food they could. 

Thinking about food made Clint's stomach roil, and not just because he was still hungry; no, he was anxious. They'd been walking for much longer than they had initially anticipated and the canned food they'd brought with them was running out. They hadn't gotten as lucky as they had been on their first day again, when Clint had come across a skinny rabbit right after setting up camp. 

They hadn't been able to stretch their provisions much, which meant that if they wanted to find food on the plateau, as well as return the way they had come, they had to be quick about it. They couldn't afford to waste time and any day without coming across game was another day closer to a gruesome and painful death. 

At least they had reached the assumed top of the plateau and could finally start hunting in earnest. They'd left the basement that morning, reluctant to leave anything of theirs behind, since the scene they'd found the day before was still fresh in their minds. They didn't know who else lived here; if anyone did, that was. 

"God, I miss Nando's," Clint broke the silence. 

"I miss spices," Bucky returned. 

Clint moaned. "Oh god. Spices, Bucky!"

Bucky shot him a smirk. "Curry, garlic, cinnamon." Clint laughed.

"If you keep up the dirty talk, I'm not gonna last," Clint said, honest to god _giggling_.

Bucky's smirk turned predatory and the glint in his eyes made Clint's mouth go about as dry as the desert at midsummer. He swallowed. Maybe the previous night _had_ changed something between them. 

Before he could open his mouth and ruin their budding friendship though, and thanks for that, an irregularity in the snow covering the ground to his left caught his eye. It wasn't the first time one of them had spotted something they thought looked like deer tracks, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but this time, Clint's heart soared. 

"Fuck me sideways!" he yelled. "Buck, look at this!" Bucky was at his side in less than a second and together, they bent over and examined what Clint had found; small, rounded hoof prints that couldn't come from anything other than a deer. 

"Shit," mumbled Bucky. "Fuck. Finally."

Clint left Bucky to his astonished one-word sentences and knelt down, prodding the snow around the prints. It hadn't snowed in two days and the white covering had a thick ice crust. 

"Should we just follow them?" Bucky finally asked. 

Clint shook his head. "No." He pointed at the edge of the prints, the frozen snow. "These could be days old. We'd have better luck hunkering down and waiting for one to show up."

Miraculously, it didn't take them long to find a place they could do exactly that. A wooden deerstand, standing seven feet above the ground with a vertical ladder leading into the post, stood just past the next hill, surrounded by sparse trees and scraggly, bare bushes. 

They found more tracks and Clint breathed in relief. So the first tracks hadn't been a fluke. So that whole journey of theirs hadn't been for nothing. Clint knew that they might have just as well not found anything. His theory that the game had moved up the plateau had been exactly that, a theory. 

Unfortunately, though, deerstands weren't made for more than one hunter to hunker down in, so Bucky and Clint had to get creative. With the two of them, stretching out to sleep was impossible as long as one of them didn't feel like getting smothered by the other, so they resigned themselves to spending the rest of the day and the night they had ahead of them either standing up or sitting down. 

And as if their logistical problems weren't enough, they also soon found that standing and sitting around, no matter how sheltered, was no way to stay warm, and consequently, alive. During the previous days, they'd stayed warm by relentlessly marching through the cold, which wasn't an option when they had to stay in one place and be inconspicuous at the same time. 

"You're not starting a fucking fire here," Bucky hissed and slapped the matchsticks out of Clint's hand, who dove to catch them before they could tumble off the deerstand. 

"I'm fucking freezing my nuts off, Bucky!"

"Pipe down." Bucky began unhooking his canvas bedroll from his pack. "Or do you want to startle the game away?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Deer are dusk and dawn animals, Buck. I'll worry about that when it gets dark."

"Oh, and you think they'll just walk up to a place where they'd heard suspicious sounds earlier? Keep dreaming."

Clint huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Damn, but he was cold. "Give me your coat."

"Stop whining, Clint." Aforementioned bedroll smacked Clint square in the face, making him splutter. "Just make yourself comfortable while I stand watch, yeah?" 

Clint complied, albeit with some grumbling. It wasn't like he didn't have his own bedroll. "When you're asleep, I'm stealing your body heat."

The sound Bucky made was practically a purr. "Is that a promise?" 

And Clint froze like the fucking teenager he secretly still was. Because Bucky had a boyfriend. Because Bucky wasn't supposed to talk to him like that. Because damn, Clint really wanted Bucky to talk to him like that. _Fuck_ , he thought, _way to go, Barton._ Of course he'd go and crush on the one guy who wasn't available. Aside from Steve, of course.

Clint cringed. Oh damn, he really liked Steve. And now he had the hots for the little man's boyfriend. He should have gone and got a crush on Sam, like any sensible man would have, but it figures he'd rather go for the silent, brooding guy. God, he should have brought his _Team Edward_ shirt and just stop the pretense. 

"Clint?" Bucky asked and when Clint looked up, he cringed again. He'd left Bucky without an answer the other had obviously filled the blanks in for himself. His eyes had lost that playful spark, his lips were thin and brows drawn. 

"Uh," Clint mumbled. 

Bucky scowled. "Whatever." He turned away and pulled the edge of his shawl up to cover the lower part of his face. 

And Clint didn't know what he was supposed to do now. Flirt back? 'Cause that had definitely fallen into the category of sexual innuendo and everyone knew that was the first step towards... he didn't even wanna think it, not where Bucky could turn around and see him hide his face in his hands. 

And Clint was pretty sure Bucky wasn't allowed to do that, at least not if he was planning to go through with it and didn't that just sent a plethora of enticing pictures through his brain. 

_Damn_ , he was horny. Whether it was from the long dry spell behind him - the apocalypse wasn't exactly a time one could easily get his rocks off - or simply Bucky. 

Clint looked up as inconspicuous as he could and studied Bucky's profile, or rather, the part of him that wasn't covered. Studied the way he leaned against the wooden wall, his piercing grey eyes staring out into the forest. He whispered a curse. 

Yeah alright, it was Bucky. 

**~**

"We're not gonna make it through the night if we don't find a way to stay warm." Clint's teeth chattered and he huddled tighter into his bedroll. Bucky was still on his feet, staring out into the forest with a focused determination Clint was quietly, jealous of. He didn't know how Bucky could take it, but the sun was almost gone and with it, the last wisps of warmth it brought. Soon, there'd only be darkness and cold, and they'd end up like those corpses they'd found at the crossroads. 

Clint was getting more tired by the second and he was pretty sure that wasn't a good sign. His stomach had long since given up on growling. They'd saved the last cans of pork and beans for when they had a fire to heat their food, but from Clint's perspective, that might as well be never. 

Another violent shiver shook his body and he groaned. Soon he wouldn't have the strength to even do that. 

"Bucky," he said. "For god's sake, we're gonna die out here.

"We can't go back yet," Bucky finally answered and Clint looked up in surprise. "We can't afford to waste the time."

Clint struggled to his feet, discarding the warmth of the bedroll. "Bucky." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We can't do anything if we're dead." When the other still didn't react, he shook his shoulder gently. "Let's go back to the basement, yeah? We can plan when we're back there." 

After a long, silent minute, Bucky finally nodded. 

They had packed their bags and left the deerstand, breaking into a jog in the hopes of warming up, when Bucky opened his mouth again. 

"It would have been too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Huh?" Clint asked, panting. The cold air stung his throat and fogged up his goggles and he'd much prefer not having to speak at all until they had made it back to safety. 

Bucky huffed. "I mean this." He gestured. "This whole endeavour. We came here to find food and save our friends. It would have been too easy to actually succeed, right?" His voice took a pitch that sounded vaguely hysterical.

Clint frowned and slowed to turn around. The deerstand was almost out of view. The thing was, he got it. He understood Bucky's desperation, the need to finally end it, to succeed and relieve the looming dread hanging over them every second of every day, even if it took their lives to do it. He swallowed thickly.

He didn't know if the stinging in his throat came from the cold anymore. 

**~**

Back at the basement, it was Clint who threw their bedrolls together and guided Bucky, who was listlessly staring at the wall, into getting out of his gear. With a shove and a grunt, Bucky finally complied and crawled into their bedrolls, Clint right behind him. 

Valiantly ignoring his earlier thoughts on his companion, Clint closed his eyes, willing sleep to claim him, but no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many sheep he counted, slumber stayed out of reach. _Dammit_ , he thought, after what felt like an hour of spiralling thoughts and feelings he didn't have the mental capacity to face. 

It was Bucky who broke the silence. "You awake?" he whispered. 

Clint sighed. "Duh. What's up?"

"Can't sleep."

With another sigh, Clint turned around to face Bucky. Luckily, his trembling had subsided and he could finally feel his toes again. The other's eyes were pinched in the low light and Clint was willing to bet it wasn't from exhaustion. 

"How long do you think we can afford to stay here?" Bucky whispered before Clint had a chance to open his mouth. Their faces were too damn close for his liking. 

"What do you mean?"

Bucky licked his lips in thought. "I mean, how long can we afford to stay here, waiting for prey to fall in our laps?" 

Clint stared at him. It was a valid question. If they didn't succeed soon, they'd have to return home empty handed, having wasted time and provisions on a futile journey.

"Let's find out." He sat up and groped for his hoodie. While the basement managed to keep a higher temperature than the outside, it got pretty damn cold at night. He stretched and grabbed the straps of his backpack, unhooking the storm lantern from its side. They'd have to keep this as short as possible - lantern oil was a rare commodity these days, just like pretty much everything else. 

Next to him, Bucky was doing the same and together, they emptied their packs of all their edibles. 

"We have to melt some snow soon," Clint muttered, looking at his half empty water bottle. He fished out two cans of pork and beans, a can of tomato soup and an energy bar. The beef jerky was already gone, he remembered with dismay. 

On top of his pile came another can of pork and beans, three cans of pinnacle peaches - Bucky must have somehow bribed Sam, Clint knew it - and a box of salt crackers. 

Clint whistled. "Damn, I'm jealous. Trade you an energy bar for some peaches?"

Bucky snorted. "Forget it." 

The levity didn't last long. Staring down at their provisions, it became painfully clear that they'd spent way more time getting up the plateau than initially anticipated. They had enough food for two more days, four if they stretched it out, and most of those they'd spend getting back to the farmhouse. 

Clint buried his face in his hands, trying to stem the wave of despair. They'd have to get really lucky tomorrow if they wanted to return home with something to show for themselves. Forget making it home successful; at the rate their journey was going, they might not be coming home at all. 

They'd narrowly avoided freezing to death during the night before and Clint didn't fancy their chances of carrying fresh meat for days without getting molested by the local wildlife. They hadn't encountered any wolves yet, but he knew that could change in a heartbeat. 

"Proposal." Bucky's voice broke through the haze of worry clouding his mind. He squinted at the label on one of the cans. "Five hundred calories a day, that way we can draw this out a little further."

Clint gulped. Five hundred calories was... not a lot. Not even by their standards. "Over four days?"

Bucky nodded. 

Clint pressed his lips together and reconsidered his stance on praying right then and there. 

**~**

They spent an hour chopping wood, melting snow and filling hot water into their thermos flasks, shivering all the while. The night had been cold once again, even in their shared bed rolls and Clint had almost been glad by the time Bucky shook him out of his restless half-sleep. His eyes felt gritty and no matter how much he trembled, he couldn't produce any warmth, even with the physical exertion and the small fire at his back.

Bucky wasn't much different, sitting huddled in his parka and blinking tiredly at his surroundings. Clint really hoped their day would turn out at least marginally better than yesterday had. 

**~**

Not even half an hour - in Clint's estimate - into huddling inside the deerstand and Clint was ready to give up. He had his arm slung around his shins and his face hidden in his knees and even in his curled over position, he couldn't find any warmth. He had stopped trembling a while ago.

That was a bad sign, wasn't it? It should be. It couldn't be good, at least. His head felt thick. And he was tired; so, so tired. 

He wanted to be back at the farmhouse. He wanted to be in his bed, in the room he shared with Sam. He wanted to sit in the kitchen in front of the burning stove, smelling the food Sam had managed to whip up out of nothing, even if he knew that he might not be smelling it for much longer. 

He wanted to be back at the basement and in their bed rolls, even if it was not nearly as comfortable as his bunkbed, even if it was just slightly too cold and he wanted Bucky there with him. He'd been sleeping with his back to the other man all these nights, but now, he imagined turning around. He imagined being brave for once. 

The terrible, slow curl of dread in his stomach barely registered anymore. He'd been scared so long, had expected to meet death every day since that cursed first night of seeing the aurora. But now, the dread came with a sense of certainty; he was going to die here. And if it wasn't from hypothermia, it was from the lack of food or the sharp teeth of a wolf. 

But right here, right now, death felt awfully close. And somehow, it caused neither panic nor rebellion. 

**~**

A hand grabbed his shoulder, an indeterminate amount of time later, and startled him awake. Had he been sleeping? He blinked heavy eyes, trying to clear the blurry picture in front of him. It took him entirely too long to focus; he was vaguely aware of that by the tightening grip on his shoulder. He looked up. 

Bucky was still standing next to him, looking out into the forest, his left leg pressed into Clint's side. But the look of boredom and frustration Clint had come to expect, had been replaced by a laser focus. 

"What?" Clint mumbled through numb lips. He blinked to clear his sight. 

"Get your bow," Bucky hissed and Clint felt his eyes widen. Could it be? He scrambled upwards, unhooked his bow and quiver from his pack with stiff fingers and squeezed himself into the empty space next to Bucky. But there was no deer in sight. 

Disappointment weighed like a stone and his gut and he swallowed thickly. "Bucky, why -"

"Over there," Bucky whispered and pointed his gloved hand towards a scraggly, bare rose bush clinging to a boulder only some two hundred feet away. The tiniest movement later, and Clint understood. 

There was a small rabbit rummaging around under the bush, its brown fur almost invisible against the rough stone behind it. And it wasn't a deer, didn't mean a successful return to safety and their friends, but it sure as hell wasn't nothing. 

Clint lifted the bow and grimaced. "Move your shoulders somewhere else, man." He knocked his hip into Bucky's until the other got the message and reluctantly moved back, so Clint could draw without knocking a certain someone's head in with his elbow. 

The archer drew an arrow out of his quiver, one of the few good ones he had left, and nocked. Trying to shoot a rabbit through the branches of a hedge wasn't optimal, but Clint couldn't afford to stand around waiting for better conditions. He grit his teeth, prayed that his trembling hands wouldn't ruin this for them, and fired. 

The arrow connected with an echoing thud. 

**~**

They decided to light a fire under a nearby rocky overhang, overlooking the meadow the deerstand was placed in. It wasn't the best position for them to stay undetected by the wildlife, but it sure was better than freezing their nuts off waiting for prey to stumble into their line of sight in that godforsaken wooden hideout. 

Clint wanted to fall to his knees and thank whatever gods were out there when he felt mild warmth against his frozen fingertips, but he kept himself to hovering around the tiny fire like a dragon would around its hoard. This - as well as the food - would be enough to breathe some life back into them. 

The mood, however, was tense. While they had sat around and joked under similar circumstances only days prior, now they were silent, each of them caught in their own head. 

Clint gutted and skinned the rabbit as soon as he felt life returning to his extremities, while Bucky sat there, still staring out into the forest. His knife neatly parting skin from meat, the blond thought back to the very first time he had done this. His skill had been poor and he'd wasted more meat than he wanted to think about now, but back then, they'd thought they could afford it. They'd thought they'd never feel the dread of slow starvation, the hopelessness of knowing that there was next to nothing they could do about it.

Hell, back then, they had still believed they would be saved soon. That they were the only people cut off and that there would be someone coming to rescue them and take them back to civilisation if only they'd wait by their cabin long enough. His lips twisted, bitter. 

"I'm okay with dying here, you know." Clint hadn't meant it to come out this callously, hadn't really meant for it to come out at all, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a considerable weight lift off his shoulders. Bucky turned his head and frowned at Clint, lower half of his face still covered. Somehow, that made it easier. 

"I'm okay with dying here," he repeated, biting his lip. "Not the dying bit, per say. But like, I'm okay for it to happen here instead of, say, back home in New York."

Bucky's eyebrows twitched. "You're from New York?" Clint nodded. "So am I."

Clint didn't really know how to answer that. It wasn't like it still mattered, under their circumstances. "Huh." They were silent for another few minutes and Clint got lost in the task before him. Then -

"What do you think it's like, back home?"

"It's probably an absolute shit show." He isn't interested in mincing his words, not when it came to this. There was a quiet hiss from across the fire. 

"How would you know?" Bucky asked, challenging. "Maybe everything's fine down there. Maybe it wasn't global."

Clint's hands stilled. It would be nice, he guessed. If it had been a local event, if the power had only gone out on Great Bear, an island known for their terrible infrastructure, it meant that the world wasn't on the brink of collapse, after all. It meant there was hope for them, that one day they'd finally see that Search and Rescue helicopter they've been looking out for all this time. 

But hoping didn't feed six hungry mouths. Fantasies didn't make their struggle any easier. 

He settled for a tense "maybe" and returned his attention to his hands. 

Later, the rabbit skewered and hanging over the fire, Bucky sat down next to Clint and stared into the low flames. "I'm scared for my family."

And Clint closed his eyes and cursed himself all the way from here to hell. Of course. Of course Bucky had family; some of their group was bound to have. Can't all be orphans like Nat, Wanda and him. Clint's most important person had been by his side all this time and he'd barely thought back to the brother he hadn't seen in over a decade. Some brother that made him. 

But Bucky was different, it seemed. "Your family?" he prompted, as gently as he could.

Bucky nodded tersely. "I have a sister, Becca. And a mother. I hope they're taking care of each other."

Watching the side of Bucky's face, Clint suddenly wished he'd take the scarf off, so that he could see his face. "I'm sure they're fine," he murmured, voice almost inaudible to himself against the crackling of the fire and the wind brushing through the treetops. 

He didn't believe it. Maybe he was a pessimist, but he didn't think the blackout was an event local to their island. Because surely, someone would have noticed by now, right? He knew that Great Bear had been one of the areas hit the hardest in the financial crisis, had lost many of its citizens to the city, where pay checks had been more reliable. But it hadn't been this desolate, he didn't think. 

Sure, the travel agency had advertised it as the ultimate getaway, a place as deserted you could find save for the north pole, but there were houses and towns, farms and homesteads all over. And they hadn't found a single local since arriving in this valley. At least, not a living one. 

And surely, the outside world would notice an entire island dropping off the grid. Surely, they'd send help, wouldn't they? It had been weeks, maybe months since that first night. And there hadn't been a single sign of impending rescue. 

That only left one conclusion: 

The affected area was much larger than Great Bear. And there were simply not enough resources to find and rescue their little group on top of all the others who needed saving. 

Which brought him back to the matter of New York. He shuddered to think of how the complete destruction of all electrical devices, a lasting one, would affect a city housing millions of people. Millions of people with needs. 

So he was glad he wasn't in the middle of _that_ mess and he wasn't afraid to admit it. But Bucky... 

He knocked his shoulder into that of his friend - and they had become friends, hadn't they? "I'm sure they're fine." Bucky only blinked slowly, once, and Clint really wished he could see the rest of his face now, and not so he could read the other's lips. 

Finally, Bucky turned and met his gaze. His slate-grey eyes were striking against the backdrop of a bare, snow covered landscape. Clint didn't need to see more than his eyes to find the tenderness in them.

"Thank you, Clint."

**~**

The rabbit, coupled with another can of pork and beans, served to fill them up nicely, a feeling Clint had thought he'd never get to experience again. They had decided to keep the fire going and took turns resting and going into the woods to chop fallen, frozen branches into fuel. It wasn't the most efficient firewood, but it kept them alive. 

The last time Clint had gone to do exactly that, he'd found more fresh deer tracks and almost keeled over in his relief. At least now he knew they hadn't spent the last few days watching this meadow on a fluke. 

He had just slipped back into his bedroll and closed his eyes, trusting Bucky to keep watch, when a howl ripped through the silent forest. Clint's eyes flew back open and he sat up. Bucky was standing only feet away, rigid and tense beneath his thick clothes, revolver clutched tightly in his hand, still pointed at the ground.

Clint scrambled upwards, kicking off his bedroll with a curse. "How close?" he hissed. With his ears, he could never quite tell. 

"Close." Bucky's voice was grim, his eyes focused on a group of trees on the other side of their meadow.

With a racing heart, Clint unhooked his bow and quiver from his pack and shouldered both. His hunting knife he put in his jacket's pocket, where he could reach it the quickest. 

He followed Bucky's eyes and tried to spot anything between the bare undergrowth of the woods, but even _he_ couldn't see hide nor hair of his newly acquired nightmare fodder. Minutes went by in which they just stood there staring across the meadow, tense and silent. 

Finally, another howl sounded, several others joining in, and Clint grabbed the bow and arrow from his back, nocking an arrow in one fluid motion.

Bucky's voice broke him out of his concentration. "If you see them heading our way, don't hesitate. My revolver is useless at a distance, so you'll have to pick them off with your arrows before they’re in my range." He was silent for a few seconds. "I know you like dogs, Clint, but maybe they'll flee if we show them we mean business." 

Clint frowned, but nodded. He hadn't told Bucky that. 

**~**

They didn't see any wolves that day. Despite sounding awfully close, they hadn't managed to catch sight of even one of the canines, until their howls and barking had vanished more and more into the distance and even Bucky had relaxed. 

Not for long, though, because as soon as he put his revolver aside, he vanished into the woods, muttering something Clint didn't catch. Worried, Clint stared after him until his companion returned, several thick, sturdy branches in hand.

Bucky dropped his load next to the fire, reached deep into his backpack and pulled out a dirt streaked, thin sweatshirt. As Clint watched, the other began ripping it into strips of fabric using his hand and teeth. 

He dropped down next to Bucky, waving his hand in front of his friend's face, but the only answer he got was a growled ‘ _torches_ ’ Clint only understood because Bucky hadn't bothered covering his face after leaving the warmth of the fire. He sat back with a sigh and alternated between watching their surroundings and Bucky's nimble fingers wrapping the cloth around one of the branches until he had a thickly padded bundle on one end. 

It was oddly soothing, watching Bucky work quickly and surely, the crackling fire the only sound between them. 

Lastly, he reached into his pack again and a bundle of rolled up wire and a can of lantern oil in his hand. As Clint watched, he carefully poured the oil over the fabric, soaking it through and wrapped the wire around the whole thing to keep the cloth in place. 

As Clint watched, Bucky put the wire bundle between his teeth, grabbed the branch he'd held between his thighs and held it out towards Clint. It took an embarrassing amount of time for him to understand what Bucky was trying to tell him with inarticulate grunts and exaggerated eyebrow movements, but eventually he did. 

"Oh!" he called and reached into his pocket to grab his knife and cut through the wire connecting the torch and the bundle in Bucky's mouth. 

The other spit it out immediately. "Thanks," he said drily. Clint could only smile in apology.

Bucky huffed. "Come on, help me with this." 

Together, it took only minutes for them to come up with four torches evenly divided between the two of them and by the end of it, Clint felt a great deal better about possible wolf encounters. 

**~**

When Clint finally made the executive decision to return to the basement and drag Bucky by his hair if he had to, night had settled together with a stubborn weight in his stomach. 

Another day spent outside, exhausting their energy and resources. Another day without result. He felt like raging and crying simultaneously and he might even be inclined to settle on at least one of those; if only he wasn't so tired. 

Exhaustion sat deep in his bones and he wasn't sure if it was purely physical. Maybe it came from days spent out in the elements. Maybe it came from despair. 

He swallowed again and again, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. 

The basement came into view in front of them and Clint grabbed the hatch, opening it for Bucky to step through with the lantern. He waited, but Bucky didn't move. 

"Buck?" he mumbled. His companion was staring into the hole, into the darkness. He didn't answer. 

Searching his face, Clint almost shrank back from the empty look in Bucky's eyes. There was just... nothing. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand and put it on Bucky's elbow. It only took one gentle tug before Bucky moved, stepping into the darkness and vanishing into their basement. 

Clint stood outside, in the dark and cold, and stared after him. Bucky had been so jovial when they'd set out from the farmstead. Not happy, but certain, determined. He'd joked and laughed. But he was also worried about his family. He'ds volunteered to go on a more than dangerous mission none of them had had much hope in in the first place, left his small, sickly boyfriend in the hopes of bringing back enough food to keep their group alive long enough to come up with a plan to get the fuck out of here. He was prepared to die here. 

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. The cracks must have been there all along, beneath layer upon layer of fierceness and determination. 

A gust of freezing wind hit him sideways, seeping into his clothes, skin and his very marrow. With a curse pressed through chattering teeth, he followed Bucky into the now brightly lit basement. 

**~**

"Please tell me you're not losing your head, not now." 

Still in the process of losing all his layers, Bucky turned around. His face was still frighteningly void of expression. After a few moments of just staring at each other, Bucky finally shook his head. 

"I'm fine," he said, voice raspy. Clint didn't believe him for a second. 

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

It wasn't that he didn't want to listen to Bucky. It wasn't that he didn't want to console him. It was Clint's total and complete inability to do just that; he'd been told not to bother many times over the course of his life and he'd since resigned himself to leaving the act of giving comfort to other people. 

But there was no one to do it for him and Bucky looked like the slightest blow could shatter him into a million tiny, sharp-edged pieces. 

For a long time, Clint's friend just looked at him. Then he closed his eyes and dragged a hand over his face with an almost inaudible groan. His whole demeanour changed, sagged and slumped. "No, I don't wanna talk about it. But thank you." 

Clint forced himself to shrug. It wasn't like he could have come up with something to make Bucky feel better and it wouldn't have changed anything about their situation anyway. 

Minutes later, he crawled into his sleeping roll and settled with his back to Bucky. He was tired, yes, exhausted even, but sleep wouldn't come. The gnarled knot of anxiety in his chest, the weight in his stomach wouldn't let him fall asleep. Every time he drifted off, one thought or another hurled him back into wakefulness. He worried about his friends at the farm, he worried about tomorrow and their dwindling rations. He worried about Bucky. 

As if reading his mind, the man behind him shifted and a soft, warm hand settled on his side. 

Clint froze, his eyes wide and unblinking. 

A second later, he felt warmth at his back, not quite touching him, but close enough to feel. 

A warm breath puffed against his neck. "I know -" Bucky broke off. "I know we're not like that, but -" Clint tried to keep his breathing as even as possible. He felt goosebumps spreading over his neck and arms. "- but just for tonight, okay? Just for tonight."

And Clint was helpless, caught in the feeling of his heart trying to beat itself out of his chest. So he nodded. Bucky exhaled, his breath ghosting over his ear. 

Clint suppressed a shiver and prayed that the other hadn't noticed. He knew this was practical, one friend seeking physical comfort in another during dire, frightening times. He also knew that he probably wasn't the person Bucky really wanted to hold. 

And still, when Bucky's hand slid from his waist to his chest, pressing through the thin fabric into his sternum, when he shifted to press his chest to Clint's back and tangled their legs, Clint felt like crying; he felt truly warm for the first time in weeks and the thought had him bite his lip to keep the tears down. 

So he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, careful to take deep, even breaths, and he pretended that the cold tip of a nose pressed into the nape of his neck didn't belong to a man he could never have. 

He hoped to hell that this wouldn't break him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is. The third and final chapter, only *checks calendar* ...a whole month after posting date. I have no excuse except that by posting date I thought the fic would only be about 22k long and not turn into this behemoth of 28k. That and life, you know?
> 
> Now, i hope you enjoy this last chapter, which is almost as long as the first and second combined and felt even longer. Thanks for sticking with me though all this (especially the Clintucky Fried Chicken server... those poor bastards). 
> 
> Oh, and please mind the updated tags!

Clint woke from a hazy dream to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth against his back. He'd never been quick to come out of sleep and similarly, it took him awhile to remember why the warmth was there and who it belonged to. 

He barely kept himself from tensing up when memory hit. Breath caught in his lungs, he opened his eyes and realised that he'd woken up long before sunup, going by the inky blackness permeating the cold stone room. 

Clint gulped. What should he do? Bucky was still pressed against his back, as if they hadn't moved an inch in their sleep. And his hand - 

Clint had to keep in a startled curse when he realised that Bucky's hand had left his chest and was now tightly intertwined with his own. He closed his eyes and tried to take careful, even breaths to calm his heart. It had skipped a beat the second he'd realised and was now trying its hardest to jump out of his throat. 

_ This is so uncool _ , he thought,  _ you're like a teenager with his first crush _ . 

There was no way Clint would be able to fall back asleep. There was no way Clint could extricate himself from Bucky's embrace without waking his friend and creating a situation too awkward for him to handle. And even if he could, he wouldn't do it, to be frank. 

He was a teenager crushing on a taken man, who would - hopefully - go back to his kind, amazing boyfriend in a few short days and if some platonic cuddles was all he was ever going to get, he was selfish enough to take it. 

Clint wasn't a good person, but at least he was self-aware. 

**~**

He stayed exactly how he'd woken up, on his side and holding Bucky's hand, for what felt like hours. His shoulder was stiff and he was fairly sure he'd never get the blood flow back in his left arm, but he was scared Bucky would roll away once he moved even the tiniest bit. 

So he stayed as he was and waited for the rhythm of Bucky's breathing to change. 

When he felt the tiniest movement behind him, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that Bucky hadn't realised he was awake. Pretending to sleep so your crush would keep embracing you was one thing, getting caught doing so was something entirely different and he wasn't sure if his self-esteem would survive it. 

But Bucky didn't move, at first. Only the smallest flutter of air against Clint's neck indicated a change, but after a few minutes, Bucky gently, oh so gently, drew his hand back and rolled onto his back. 

The rustle of clothes against their bedroll almost hid the sigh, but Clint heard it loud and clear. He kept his eyes closed and moved to press his face into the fabric beneath his cheek. 

"Clint?" Bucky asked an indiscernible amount of time later. Clint didn't answer. 

"Clint." 

He groaned, not even having to fake his displeasure at being spoken to. 

A hand grabbed his right shoulder and shook it gently. "I know you're awake, idiot. Stop faking."

With a rough voice, Clint answered, "It's early."

"It's our last day." Bucky's voice was tight. It was true; their provisions were almost fully depleted. The only thing Clint had left was half a protein bar and even Bucky kindly sharing his rations wouldn't help them out of this situation. 

Clint's stomach clenched at the thought and he stilled. "Hey, Buck?"

"Hm?"

"Do you regret coming here with me?" It was silent for a moment, then - 

"I would have regretted not coming more." 

And that was as good as Clint could have expected, all things considered. 

They dressed slowly in the darkness, after having decided that there was no more sleep to be found that night - or early morning, rather. A rush of vertigo had Clint stumble when he got to his feet and at this point, he couldn't tell if it came from the lack of sleep, the lack of food or the lack of light. 

There were spots dancing behind his eyelids and he groaned. The day had barely started and he was already fairly sure that it would end disastrously. 

"Clint?"

When he removed his hands from where he'd pressed them to his eyes, he realised that Bucky had lit their lantern. 

He waved him off. "I'm fine, I'm fine." Their eyes met and Clint could see his own grim resignation reflected back at him. There was nothing more he could say.

When they stepped outside, only the barest slither of light had made it past the horizon to illuminate their way and Clint turned the lantern off. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings and when they did, he realised it wasn't the early sun lighting their way. It was the disappearing glow of a fading aurora. 

He gasped quietly, unwilling to break the eerie silence of the morning. No matter how often he saw it, no matter the torrent of feelings filling him when he did, the soft, multi-coloured glow, the way the light curled through the sky - It was the most beautiful sight in the world.

**~**

They were walking back towards the deerstand, even though just thinking about that place made Clint's stomach roll. They had been so glad when they'd found it, so hopeful, and now, days later, it had become witness to their failure. 

Maybe they shouldn't have put their faith in it. Maybe they should have tried to follow the tracks they had found. Maybe they should have wandered around the forest aimlessly until they had either found prey or become the same. Surely, anything was better than wasting away waiting for the perfect opportunity; if that opportunity ever came to pass. 

But they weren't trained hunters. They didn't have the equipment nor the experience and they sure as hell didn't have the knowledge that would have made this whole damn journey so much easier. 

And they were noisy. With every step they took, snow and ice crunched underneath their boots, all that artificial fabric of their clothes rustled and groaned. If even Clint could tell how much noise they made, it must be much more noticeable for Bucky; or any animal in the woods, for that matter. 

The part of his brain that hadn't yet succumbed to resignation and hopelessness knew that the deerstand was probably their best bet, but that didn't keep him from cursing himself, the lazy city life he'd led before this, his inability to perform miracles and pretty much everything from his childhood to whatever had caused the blackout and all that came with it. 

He was so deep in thought, he almost didn't notice that the grove of birch trees they were approaching had changed their - by now - familiar look. His first thought was ' _ where did those boulders come from _ ', cause he had passed this grove half a dozen times in the last few days and he'd never seen anything but young trees and bare-leafed thickets, but when he fought past the fogginess of his thoughts and concentrated his eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Next to him, Bucky came to a stop as sudden and turned with alarm in his eyes, before Clint slapped a gloved hand over his mouth. For a second, they stared at each other and Clint couldn't speak. 

Sheltered between the slim trees, the brown fur of two does stood out against the background of white and grey. Clint didn't dare move or speak, in fear of making the mirage disappear. 

He blinked his eyes, tried to decide if it was simply the stress and exhaustion playing tricks on him, but nothing changed. The does were still there, nosing the tree trunks in search of food. And they hadn't yet noticed the hunters watching them. 

A hand gripped the fabric at his waist and held on tight. Clint turned his head and met Bucky's disbelieving eyes - his own probably looked the same, no doubt. 

The scarf covering Bucky's mouth moved and Clint frowned. Was Bucky trying to talk? His friend's hand was still fisted in his jacket, so he raised his own and pulled the scarf off. He hoped his eyebrows conveyed the question well enough for the other to get it. 

It turned out that all Bucky did was mouth Clint's name over and over again, wide eyed - and hopeful. 

Clint pulled off his glove with shaking hands and pressed his index finger to his covered lips; just because they were close didn't mean they could afford to be careless, now. Bucky nodded, pressing his chapped lips together, and Clint lowered himself to the ground, oh so slowly. 

His head was filled with a barrage of curse words as he unhooked his bow and quiver from his backpack, still trembling. If he didn't succeed, if this didn't end right now and right here, Clint didn't think he could bear it. So close to salvation, so close. If he fucked up now he'd never forgive himself. 

For a moment, he debated whether he should take down one deer after another and risk the second bolting or if he should try to shoot them both at once, with one shot and two arrows. But he hadn't practiced that particular trick ever since the beginning of this mess and one definite kill was better than two maybes. 

He estimated the distance to be about three hundred and fifty feet - they were so lucky he'd spotted them when he did, far enough for the deer not to notice them and close enough to be killed. Not the farthest shot he'd ever landed, but like this? He was starving and tired, trembling from a multitude of reasons, one of which being his heart going like a sledgehammer in his chest and adrenaline flooding his system. 

He raised his bow in a white knuckled grip and time slowed down. His breath came in harsh gusts. In his head, the voice of his former archery instructor told him to ' _ relax and lose the stiffness, boy _ '. The hand on his waist tightened even more. He nocked the first arrow. 

_ Now or never _ , he thought,  _ death or survival _ . 

He exhaled. 

The first arrow flew and landed true and without watching the bigger of the deer fall, he drew another and nocked. The smaller one had startled away when the first arrow made contact and was now sprinting, out of the grove and towards a thick cluster of cedars. 

He drew, followed its movements and just before it left his range and disappeared, he let go. 

His bow thunked to the ground and Clint would have followed if it weren't for the vice grip Bucky had on him. 

"You- You-," Bucky stammered, "you did it." His voice was faint and Clint would worry about him, he really would, but he was occupied with trying to fight the rush of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. 

He wheezed. "Oh my god. Oh my god," he whispered. He was leaning on his knees, taking deep breath after deep breath. "Oh my god." 

Bucky still hadn't found his words. "I- I will-"

"Yeah, yeah." Clint waved a hand. "Go ahead." And the hand on his waist finally disappeared, along with Bucky's presence at his side. 

He stayed bent over like that for another few moments, then he picked up his bow along with his composure. 

There were things to do, now. 

**~**

Clint slipped into the headspace he lovingly called 'business only' and promised himself that he would take the time to freak out later so he could put his full attention on the job ahead of him. Bucky, however, seemed to be of a different mindset. 

As soon as Clint reached him and his first kill, he hovered over Clint's shoulder like a nervous teenager, too energetic to stay still and not knowledgeable enough to help out. The fourth time Clint bumped against Bucky's legs while rearranging the deer, he had to suppress an annoyed hiss. 

He turned around. "Hey, Buck, can you help me with something?"

The reaction was instant. "Yeah, sure," Bucky answered, eyes wide and eager, so different from the stoic man he'd been only days ago. It was cute, Clint noticed absentmindedly. 

"Can you find my arrows?" As expected with a bow of this calibre and the three bladed heads, the arrows had shot clean through the animals and most likely embedded themselves in the ground several yards away from their target. And Clint could absolutely not afford to lose any arrows, not here where he couldn't simply order more gear online. 

Bucky was gone with a nod and Clint went back to focusing on the task ahead of him. He didn't have much experience skinning and gutting an animal this large, but there was nothing he could do about that. Taking a deep breath, he got to work. 

In the ensuing hour, Clint alternated between being up to his forearms in deer intestines and keeping Bucky busy. A ' _ can you hold its legs for me? _ ' here and a ' _ drag the second deer over here, will you? _ ' there kept his companion occupied and his own range free. 

It was when Bucky knelt down next to him and Clint knocked their shoulders together with a grumbled ' _ you're too close, Barnes _ ' that Bucky shook off the tension in his limbs and quipped: "You say that now, but we both know you'll end up in my bed tonight anyway." And Clint threw his head back, almost stabbing himself with his knife, and laughed,  _ really _ laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

He’d just started field-dressing the second doe when the howling started.

Clint froze. "How close is it?" he asked. He didn't trust himself to estimate the distance accurately. 

"Not that close," Bucky answered, but he'd leaped to his feet, revolver loaded and cocked. Clint tried to swallow down the fear. ' _ Not that close _ ' could turn into ' _ too fucking close _ ' real quick. 

"Do you think they can smell the blood?" he whispered. The pinched look on Bucky's face was answer enough. 

"Hurry up." 

**~**

Clint worked in a flurry, Bucky’s protective presence looming over him, and sped up his work as much as he dared without risking a finger or three. He’d just started to turn the carcass on its belly so the blood could drain, when another howl ripped through the monotony of his thoughts and he flinched. 

"This one was closer, right?" 

Bucky nodded tersely and Clint cursed, knowing what they had to do. He withdrew from the carcass, crawled over to the fire and the pot of warm water and plunged his hands in. An explosive sigh left him. No matter how close the fire was, the feeling of cold, clammy blood on his skin was one he could barely endure. 

"What are you doing?" Bucky stared at him in alarm. 

"Washing up."

"But you're not done!" He waved his hand, revolver and all, at the abandoned carcass and Clint nodded. He had finished the field-dressing, but the actual butchering would have to take place somewhere else. Somewhere safe. For convenience sake, he’d planned to do it right here, but that was out of the question now. 

"I know. But we have to leave before the wolves get here. If they haven't noticed us yet, they will soon." He frantically rubbed at his arms, trying to get the crusted blood off. "Help me come up with a way to transport them." 

Bucky cursed and pushed a hand through his hair roughly, revolver now peeking out of the pocket of his parka. “A rope around the necks so we can pull them?” 

Clint looked back at the carcasses and how deep they had sunk into the soft snow. He shook his head. “No way we can pull them through the snow.” 

“And I don’t have thick enough rope,” Bucky said and chewed his lip. “Tie them to a branch and carry them between us?”

“Good luck finding a branch that will hold both of them.” The archer shook his head again, restlessly scanning the tree line now. Together, the carcasses weighed between a hundred and fifty and two hundred pounds, in his estimate. 

“What if I just -” Bucky said haltingly “- what if we just throw them over our shoulders?”

Clint eyed the two field-dressed does and grimaced. He had been a fairly muscular guy once upon a time, before this whole mess started and came with the lack of food and proper training. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could do this in his current condition. Besides…

“We’ll get blood all over our clothes,” he remarked, hesitant. The smug grin Bucky shot him was nothing short of alarming. With a flourish, he pulled a roll of trash bags out of his pack and Clint huffed a laugh.

Trying to rub some blood out of the cuff of his jacket, he gave the treeline another glance. The howling had stopped for now, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop being cautious. “If a pack catches up to us on our way to the basement, we drop the smaller deer and make a run for it. Hopefully it will distract them long enough for us to get away.” He felt like his suggestion was fairly reasonable, even if the idea of giving up almost half their catch pained him. 

But Bucky only stared at him, mouth agape. "Fuck you!"

Clint stilled. He blinked. " _ What _ ?" he asked, gaze returning to his friend. 

"We can’t just give up half of our food without a fight!" There was fury in Bucky’s eyes, along with something Clint was reluctant to name. 

"We also can’t just put ourselves in danger like that!" he exclaimed in disbelief. 

Bucky shook his head wildly. "Do whatever you want, but I’m not handing any of our food to the wolves."

"A few pounds of meat are not worth your life!" 

His words echoed around the hills and trees and left behind a shocked silence. For a minute, Clint feared that Bucky would disagree; disagree and say that yes, those few pounds were worth Bucky's life actually and that if worse came to worst, he'd stay behind to risk it. 

But Bucky's shoulders sagged in defeat and he threw the deer a desperate, heartbroken look.

There was a talk they should have one day soon, Clint realised. A talk about feelings and coping and the future, but right now was not the time and place. 

"Hand me a rag, will you?" he asked, as gently as he could and Bucky complied, almost as if he was on autopilot. Moderately clean now, Clint wiped his hands and arms and rolled his sleeves back down. "Thank you. Now, can you help me with the bags?" 

Bucky nodded, still tense. It took only minutes for the two of them to wrap the carcasses in the thick black trash bags. It wasn’t pretty and there were more than a couple tears in the plastic by the end of it, but it would keep the nasty stuff inside long enough for them to make it to the basement. The mess was tied together with the wire Bucky had used to craft their torches; they were honestly a little bizarre, all the things they came up with on this journey. 

Clint shouldered the smaller carcass with a drawn out groan, leaving the bigger one to his companion. He staggered a step forward, caught off guard by the additional weight. He cursed. 

Wrapped up deer already on his shoulders, its feet tied together so it wouldn’t slip off, Bucky glanced at the heap of bloody innards Clint had left in the snow. He nodded towards it before he started walking. “This should keep the wolves occupied long enough for us to make it to safety, I hope.”

The surge of pride caught Clint entirely by surprise. Although he'd been struggling only minutes prior, Bucky had managed to put himself together and turn back into the calm, composed man Clint had gotten to know so well. 

He smiled. 

**~**

Paranoia had them hoofing it back in the direction they'd come from that morning, up a slight incline and following a bend in the road. It couldn't be more than half a mile between their location and the basement, but after only two minutes of jogging - and they had to, and fast - with 90 pounds of deer on his shoulders, a rush of dizziness came over Clint and he stumbled to a stop, breathing raggedly. 

He couldn't help looking back. 

First one, then two, then five grey furred wolves emerged smoothly from the cover of the trees - fortunately, their attention was on leftover entrails in the grove and not the two men trying to flee the crime site. 

A hand grabbed his upper arm and Clint wheezed, trying to turn around and shake it off. 

"Clint!" 

He stilled. Oh yes, Buck. The basement. They had to go. 

But there were spots dancing in his vision and his thighs were trembling with every step and he couldn't concentrate enough to make out what Bucky said next and suddenly, he was so, so tired and - 

Bucky grabbed his hand and ran, pulling Clint with him. He stumbled more than not, he was pretty sure, and his breath came in rough pants and between the weight on his shoulders and his exhaustion, he feared he wouldn't make it back to shelter. 

He pulled on the hand dragging him. "Bucky," he said. There was no reaction and he whined. He tried it louder. "Bucky!"

His companion threw him a questioning look over his shoulder, but didn't slow. Clint pulled again.

"Bucky, I don't think they're following us."

He was pretty sure Bucky scoffed. "Not yet. As soon as they realise there's more to be found with us, they’ll follow. And I thought we weren't planning to stand between a pack of wolves and their lunch today?" He threw Clint a look, one brow raised. 

_ What an asshole _ , Clint thought, unbearably fond. 

"I'm not saying I want to do that," he huffed back, unable to draw a full breath, "I'm saying that I'm gonna keel over. I will to puke up nothing at all, and  _ then  _ I'm gonna keel over."

Finally, his friend slowed and turned his head, a worried pinch between his brows. 

"Okay." He nodded. 

**~**

While they had stopped jogging, they still moved at a brisk pace and when the ruined house attached to their basement came into view, Clint's awareness had narrowed down to two things: drawing enough breath to stay conscious, keeping his legs from giving in and following the tight clutch of Bucky's hand. 

When they finally came to a stop, Clint almost dropped face first down the hatch. Only an arm, thrown around his waist at the last second, kept him from breaking his face and possibly, his neck. 

"Shit, you're really not doing so well," a voice said into his ear and he could only wheeze. 

"Yeah, no shit," he managed at a whisper. His vision was flooded with darkness and he felt his knees buckle. "Bucky," he started and couldn't continue. It had probably come out in a whisper.

The grip on his waist vanished and for a second and Clint panicked, blindly reaching out. He got a jacket collar in his grip. Then, the weight on his shoulders, the one dragging him down and down and down, disappeared together with the feeling of his rucksack. He wavered. 

A loud crash startled him into opening his eyes again. Had he closed them? "If you just threw my backpack down the stairs, I will  _ murder _ -" He shut his eyes again with a groan and leaned more heavily into Bucky. The weight was gone but his condition hadn’t improved much. 

"Relax, I threw  _ my  _ pack down the stairs. Your bow is fine." Clint’s arm was guided upwards and around wide shoulders and he silently bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t fully appreciate the feeling of silky hair his fingers had managed to catch in his befuddled state. “Come on, careful now.”

Clint blinked his eyes open and shuffled his feet towards the stairs, gripping the fabric of Bucky’s parka in his hand like a lifeline. An indeterminable amount of time later, they'd made it down the stairs without either of them breaking their necks, and Bucky helped Clint sit down on his ass and with his arms slung around his knees. 

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" Bucky asked. 

"Huh?" Clint mumbled through the fog clouding his mind. God, he was fucked. He had felt if not fine at least okay when they’d left their shelter in the morning and only hours later, he was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. This sudden bout of weakness had caught him completely by surprise. 

A sigh. "Forget it."

Truth was, Clint couldn't for the life of him remember the last time he'd swallowed down anything more than murky water and the occasional fear and dread. But he wasn't gonna say that out loud. 

"I feel sick," he stated instead. 

A huff came from somewhere in front of him. "No wonder." 

A moment later, movement near him and the unmistakable smell of salty goodness made Clint reappear from his hiding spot. There was a cracker hovering right underneath his nose. 

He moaned, completely unashamed. He was ravenous. In the morning, he'd been so distracted with whatever had happened between him and Bucky - and he really had to think on that later- and then... the excitement, the fear of getting attacked, and last but not least, the sight and smell of raw meat, guts, and blood had simply not left much room for hunger, no matter how all encompassing it usually was. 

The cracker was gone in a heartbeat and he stared at his empty hands mournfully. 

"Slow down, you're gonna get a stomach ache," Bucky said in a chiding tone. But he was smiling in the dim light falling through the small, ice crusted windows. 

"I didn't know you still had crackers!" Clint made grabby hands at the box in his friend's hand. 

Bucky grinned and handed it over. "Saved them for last." 

When several more crackers had disappeared down Clint's gaping maw, Bucky took the box from him again. A wordless yell of protest was met with an absolutely unmoved expression, no matter how pitifully Clint looked at him. He debated whether shedding a few crocodile tears would help him, but resolved to save that particular trick for something even more important. Who knew, maybe he’d be presented with the opportunity to swindle Bucky out of a pepperoni pizza some time soon.

"I said slow down," Bucky said sternly, "just wait five minutes and I'll give you something even better than crackers."

"There's nothing better than crackers," Clint replied automatically. Then, he frowned. "You're a god among men, Barnes, but you're also a fucking tease." 

Bucky's serious expression faltered in the dim light and Clint would give his firstborn for a chance to see his face more clearly. He really wanted to know if Bucky was blushing. 

His hand tightened where it rested on his forearm, digging his nails into his skin.  _ Stupid _ , he thought,  _ stop that _ . Bucky wasn't his to flirt with, plain and simple, and the sooner he managed to get that into his brain, the better. Now that they'd actually succeeded, now that they'd gotten what they'd come for, they would return to the farmhouse. Soon. 

Bucky's voice brought him back to reality. "Oh, there's  _ always _ something better." And he reached into his pack and retrieved a bundle of - 

The plastic wrapping had barely come off and Clint was hit with a smell that almost sent him stumbling to his feet. 

"Barnes, what the fuck?" he groaned. "When did you -" He broke up and pointed at the bundle. Strips of grilled meat lay open in Bucky's palm and Clint had never seen a more enticing sight, the two things he craved most in the world right there in front of him. 

He held his hand out and waggled his fingers. "Gimme."

"Uh-uh." Bucky shook his head, smirking. "Five minutes, Clint." 

"Bucky." he said, very seriously. "Bucky, I don't think you realise the position you put yourself in." He pointed at that smug, pretty face. "Don't make me use force on you." 

Bucky's voice dipped low. "Force, huh?" 

And Clint's heart just stopped, packed it's bags and promised to return sometime later. Fed up with being the only one to hold down the fort, his upper brain functions followed. 

His mouth opened but no sound came out. His nails dug into his forearm. And Bucky's face went from seductive to dejected to blank in less than a heartbeat. Had he wanted Clint to - 

He interrupted the thought before it could develop a mind of its own and packed it away with the other things he had to think about much,  _ much _ later. Preferably in privacy. 

Clint swallowed. "I can wait five minutes," he said, just to say  _ something _ . Bucky just nodded. 

The silence dragged on for what felt like eternity, Clint and Bucky just staring at each other, until the former cleared his throat. 

"No, seriously, I didn't notice you cooking."

Bucky gave an uncertain smile. "You were pretty distracted." 

Clint huffed a laugh. He really had been. He threw a look towards the two wrapped up carcasses stacked in the corner. They would have to start on butchering them some time soon. 

Bucky's smile went rueful. "I guess I should have offered you some earlier." He held out the food like some kind of peace offering and Clint didn't waste any more time. It took him a while to get his mouth and head clear enough to answer. 

"Don't worry, man. You're feeding me now and you basically carried me here. So, thanks for that." He dug in again. The meat was a little tough and tasted like nothing Clint had ever eaten before, but it was the best thing he'd ever had in his life, pizza included. 

"You're welcome," Bucky replied and his smile looked genuine, finally. "I like taking care of people."

Clint chewed, thinking back to their eventful last few days. He nodded. Bucky had taken care of him, there was no doubt, and it had gone beyond what partners would do to ensure the success of a mission. He'd shared his food and had forced him into taking care of himself. He'd cheered Clint up and made him laugh, he'd given him his bedroll when he'd been cold and now he'd dragged him to shelter and basically carried him down the steps without any complaint whatsoever. 

"You really do," Clint said, lips twisting upward. "And you're good at it, too."

Bucky scoffed. "Well, I'm trying." And he waved his hand at his left shoulder as if making a point; it took Clint a moment to catch on.  _ Oh, he did not just do that _ , he thought in disbelief. 

He leaned forward, eyes fixed on his companion. "Bucky Barnes -" Bucky's eyes widened "- you're aware that you're pretty damn amazing, no matter how many hands you have, right?" For some reason - who was he kidding, he knew the damn reason - he wanted Bucky to know that.

Bucky stared at him for a moment. Then, he replied, voice small. "I felt so useless today, watching you field-dress those deer. I couldn't do anything to help."

Clint shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. Normally,  _ he  _ was the one left feeling inadequate around others. 

"Bucky, you build better fires than I do. Without you, I would probably have wasted half of my food because I'm shit at rationing. You're in way better shape than I am, and I'm no slack off. And you mended a rip in my pants, Bucky, all of that one-handed.” Clint licked his suddenly dry lips. God, competence was his weakness. “I am a hundred percent convinced that if you put your mind to it, you can learn this as well."

This time, it was Bucky's turn to gape and the sight made Clint grin. "Aw, he's bashful," he laughed. 

A grin to match Clint's own slowly grew on his friend's face and for a moment, they just sat there, beaming at each other like two absolute morons. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could vaguely feel Natasha judging him. 

Eventually, Bucky broke through the prolonged silence. "Steve keeps trying to tell me the same, but it has yet to really sink in."

Clint's smile dropped at the mention of Steve. Bucky's boyfriend. Bucky's  _ boyfriend _ . He'd been making eyes at a taken man this whole time, he'd spent the night cuddled up to a taken man and for a few minutes there, he'd fantasised about  _ a taken man _ . When would he finally get it in his head that Bucky was off limits? What else would it take, seeing them kiss, seeing them be nauseatingly in love? A fucking proposal? 

Clint was scared, really scared that none of these things would do the trick and he'd be stuck in the same house, watching them be happy and in love until the end of this whole ordeal or his miserable life, whichever came first. 

He averted his eyes. 

"Clint?" Bucky sounded confused. 

_ He's gonna put it together sooner or later _ , he thought.  _ If I tell him now, at least I get to control the when and how _ . But Clint was also a coward, and decided that ' _ later _ ' couldn't come late enough. 

He leaned back against the wall behind him, going for nonchalance, and spread his hands. "So, how are we gonna get back to the others?"

It wasn’t the best of segue, but Bucky only examined his face for a few seconds before following Clint’s change of direction. He tried not to let the relief show.

They shared more food, ate and decided that trekking through the wilderness absolutely reeking of fresh kill was probably suicidal. All through the rest of the afternoon, Clint evaded Bucky's searching looks. 

"We could try finding a quicker path down into the valley," Clint suggested. 

Bucky just shrugged. "We could build ourselves a sledge and ride it down."

Clint threw a glove at him. 

**~**

Morning broke with an argument.

"No."

"Yes."

"No. I will die, Bucky. I will die and you will have to carry my mangled, broken body back to the house."

"Selfless as I am, I will do just that."

Clint turned his head and gave Bucky a vaguely constipated look. "Complimenting you was a mistake. I take it back. You're not as smart or as sensible as you look." 

He had woken only hours before warm and comfortable with an arm thrown around his chest once more, feeling physically better than he had in days - no wonder, they’d spent the rest of the day sheltered and lazing about after all. They had cracked open the last of their canned goods, deciding that they had earned a bit of a feast, and walked the edge of the plateau until they’d found this steep, if passable, slope. Their backpacks were bursting at the seams, each trying to contain an estimated amount of over thirty pounds of wrapped meat and Clint already dreaded the backache he would no doubt sport by the end of the day.

Bucky sighed in obvious mock exasperation. Clint wanted to first kiss and then shove him down the slope. 

"You're gonna do just fine, Clint," Bucky proclaimed. "You only have to sit on your ass and enjoy the ride." Beneath the earnestness of his tone, there was a tiny sliver of childish glee, whether at Clint's reluctance to die or the prospect of doing so himself, he couldn't tell. He narrowed his eyes at his companion. His fingers twitched. 

_ No _ , he decided,  _ I need him alive. _

"I hate you," he announced anyway. 

"No, you don't," Bucky snickered. "Also, it's this or days of walking and the possibility of a grizzly death." 

Clint pursed his lips. He was glad Bucky's mood had improved, he was glad there was this new found levity in his words, but... but he didn't want to cut their journey short. Days of walking meant days spent alone with Bucky, away from the rest of their group and relieved of the burden they had carried the first time they'd walked that route. Away from reality. 

Also, there was a reason he'd never gone skiing with Nat twice, but that was neither here nor there. 

But Bucky was right. They were delicious, delicious targets on their backs and the faster they got home, the better. And really, Clint couldn't deny Bucky anything, not when he looked so excited at the chance of doing something so juvenile. 

"Alright," he yielded, "but you’re going first."

"No problem!" Bucky grinned, threw his hand out and thumped Clint hard on the back, who felt himself pitching forward and scrambled back with a curse. 

Bucky just threw his head back and cackled. "Oh boy," he gasped, "oh boy." 

"Do it or I'll make you," Clint returned in a growl, but seeing the joy on Bucky's face, he couldn't suppress a smile. He'd never heard Bucky laugh like that. 

The other just sniffed, wiped away a stray tear and sat down, backpack in his lap. "I'll see you on the other side," he said and Clint rolled his eyes so hard it hurt a little. 

Bucky snickered again, but before Clint could get close enough to make good on his word and shove him down the incline, he pushed himself over the edge. They'd been lucky to find a slope completely free of trees and scraggly bushes, because only seconds later, Bucky had gained enough momentum to become a little blurred at the edges, shooting down the slope with gleeful peals of laughter. 

Clint shook his head, heart-achingly fond. "I love an idiot," he mumbled and for once couldn't bring himself to regret it. 

The human torpedo his friend had become disappeared between the branches of several old pine trees and when he returned, it was with a grin big enough even Clint could see it. Bucky cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled something Clint couldn't make out. 

"What?" he shouted back and almost smacked his gloved hand to his face when Bucky started enthusiastically gesticulating for Clint to come down already. "I'm aiming for you!" 

Again, Bucky laughed with his entire body, spreading his arms wide in invitation. Clint snorted and muttered, "Don't think I'll do it? Watch me."

He sat down at the edge, backpack clutched to his chest, prayed for himself and the resilience of his beloved bow, and shoved off. The wind whipped through his short hair, tearing at his clothes and biting his face, but he couldn't keep himself from grinning widely at the swooping feeling in his stomach. He was shooting straight for Bucky, who was standing with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his own pack lying abandoned several feet away. 

At the last second, Bucky side-stepped, but not one to be played like that, Clint flung out a hand, grabbed Bucky around his left ankle and held on. The momentum yanked his friend off his feet and almost dislodged Clint's shoulder, but he barely felt it.

Bucky's yelp and crash into the soft snow beneath them had Clint in stitches before he'd even come to a full stop. And he wasn't the only one, because as soon as Bucky managed to splutter his way out of his face-plant, he was caught between laughing and heaving for breath. Together they lay there, holding their stomachs, unable to form any sentences longer than the breathlessly thrown ' _ asshole _ ' and ' _ fuck you _ '.

Clint couldn't tell how much time had passed before either of them could go a full minute before bursting into laughter again, but eventually, they managed to calm down, laying on their backs in the snow, staring up at the cold blue sky. If Bucky noticed that Clint's hand was still curled around his ankle, he didn't point it out. 

Still smiling, he let his eyes rest on Bucky's face. The other was still staring at the sky and the slowly forming clouds, so Clint could look his fill. Seeing him like this, relaxed and happy, made him wonder. Bucky had been so different when they'd started this whole endeavour about... about a week ago, if he was correct. It felt like an eternity since they'd left their friends, like a completely different life. 

He could hardly recognise the person laying next to him. Back at the farmhouse, Bucky had kept himself in the background, never bothered to approach and hang out with anyone but Steve. Hell, he could barely recognise the person Bucky had been half a week ago. 

Clint felt his face soften. It looked good on Bucky, being care-free. 

"Bucky," he said. 

Said man turned his head in the snow. "Huh?" His eyes were crinkled in a smile he couldn't seem to let go of. 

"Where the  _ fuck _ are we?"

Bucky threw his head back in a laugh and that swooping feeling from before was back in Clint's stomach, as if he was still sliding down the hill at breakneck speed. 

_ Oh _ , he was in trouble. 

**~**

After reorienting, they concluded that they'd managed to land further west than they'd been before and resolved to walk east until they found their little river again. 

It was unusually warm, the air being almost completely still, so they kept their scarves down. Clint was delighted; he could do what he'd wanted to do when they'd started, which was hold a conversation without Bucky having to constantly uncover his face against the chill. 

"I can't wait to get back," Bucky announced when they were back on the still frozen river. 

Clint could only smile thinly against the sting in his chest. He didn't want their time alone to end, but there was nothing he could do about that. "What do you miss most?" he asked instead. "Sam's cooking? A warm house?" 

Bucky pursed his lips. "The bed."

Clint valiantly resisted the urge to pinch himself. Of course. The bed. The bed Bucky shared with Steve, his  _ boyfriend _ . He fervently wished life would just stop rubbing it in already. 

"Yeah?" he pressed out, staring up at the tree tops. 

"Absolutely." There was a grin clearly audible in Bucky's voice. "Compared to sleeping on the ground in nothing but a sleeping bag? Absolutely."

Clint kind of liked sleeping on the ground with only a sleeping bag. Especially since that sleeping bag had come with Bucky for a few days now. This morning, he'd woken with Bucky's arm around him once again and cursed himself for not accepting that sleeping arrangement when Bucky had first asked. Clearly, past Clint had been a colossal idiot. 

Fingers tugging at his sleeve drew him out of his contemplations. He looked down.

Bucky was smiling, a crooked, intimate thing that had Clint's heart skip a beat. "I'll miss this, though." 

Slowly, he felt an answering smile spread on his face. "Yeah?" his voice was thready with hope.

"Yeah." Warm, fond eyes met his before they flicked away, focusing on something over Clint's shoulder. They widened. 

Clint whirled around. Three dark shapes flew across the blindingly white ground between the trees on their left, straight towards them. 

Several things happened at once. Clint stumbled back, terror flooding his consciousness. A body shoved past his, arm raised. He dropped his backpack. 

A shot rang, deafening against their silent surroundings, jarring even to Clint's ears. A pained yip and the wolves scattered, running to circle them. 

"Clint!" Bucky shouted over the blood rushing in Clint's ears. But he- 

"Clint, get a grip!" Bucky shouted again, stepping back to keep the wolves in his sight, the revolver swinging from one side to the other. And Clint unfroze. 

He dropped to his knees, heart pounding in his chest. Where was the fucking clasp- There. He hefted his bow but his arrows had spilled across the ice. He reached to pick them up.

Another shot. Clint flinched so hard, he dropped two arrows and cursed violently. "Bucky?" he called, fearful. He couldn't tell if there was a response, but Bucky was still standing and Clint turned around on his knees, nocking and drawing back in one fluid motion. 

One, two, three wolves were circling them, growling and barking. As he watched, a smaller, dark grey one broke the perimeter and hurled itself at them, aiming for Bucky's ankles. He released and the animal dropped to the ground, an arrow lodged between its eyes. 

The others fell back, seemingly confused by what had happened. 

Chest heaving, Clint scrambled to his feet and nocked another arrow. "Bucky?" His voice was undoubtedly panicked, but he didn't have the capacity to worry about that. 

Next to him, there was a strange  _ 'WOOSH' _ Clint couldn't place. 

"Here," Bucky said. He stepped forward.

When Clint caught sight of him, his eyes rounded. "What about the revolver?" he demanded, eyes flickering between the circling pack and the torch Bucky held aloft instead of an actual weapon. 

"Piece of shit is jammed," his friend growled, jaw tense. 

A wolf broke apart from the others and moved to the left, Clint's eyes following his every step. "Let's hope they're scared of fire, then." 

He turned and pressed his back to Bucky's. It wasn't the ideal position to draw a bow in, but with the scuffling and barking clogging his ears and the constant movement keeping him distracted and unfocused, he needed a point of contact to keep him grounded. Luckily, Bucky didn't move away. 

Suddenly, his friend jerked to the left and Clint's attention automatically followed, but just as he turned his head, movement in his periphery registered. Another wolf emerged from the woods, big and heavy looking with dark, shaggy fur. It must have been waiting for their attention to be somewhere else, he realised with growing horror. It leaped. 

"Bucky," he screamed, pressing back, throwing his bow around, but Bucky was faster. 

Lightning quick, he turned on the spot and swung his torch like a bat. The heavy, burning tip caught the wolf in the side of its face, throwing it off its axis and into the snow. Distracted by the pained yowl and his own relief, Clint momentarily forgot about the leftover pack on his other side. 

He only remembered when fangs closed around his raised forearm. 

With a scream, he dropped, the crushing weight of a massive canine pushing him down, down, down. They crashed into the rough ice underneath. Pain flooded his head and for a few seconds, he felt nothing but that and the suffocating heaviness on his chest. 

When he came back to awareness, there was a fucking wolf on him, with its teeth stuck in his left arm, tearing and shaking at him. Claws dug into his chest and shredded his clothes and really, damaging Clint was one thing, but damaging his  _ stuff _ ...

As sudden as they'd come, the teeth were gone and the wolf's jaw snapped shut only inches from his face. He was pretty sure only his left arm across the beasts chest and a reflexive jerk of his head saved him from disfigurement. He screamed again.

His free hand scrabbled for the knife in his pocket. The hilt almost slipped from his grasp, wet with blood as his hand was, but with a shout, Clint managed to drive the blade up. He felt the moment the tip broke the wolf's skin, going through flesh and bone alike and into its chest. 

The wolf jerked away with a horrible, guttural yowl, but before it could retreat more than a step, a flaming torch crashed into its head out of fucking nowhere. It stumbled back, the stench of burning fur and flesh almost making Clint gag, and slumped with a final exhalation. 

Its legs twitched once, then stilled.

Before he could fully process what had just happened, a hand grabbed Clint's shoulder hard enough to bruise and he flailed upwards with a choked curse, but it was just Bucky. It was just Bucky. 

He stared up, his friend's upside down face above him. Bucky's lips moved. The hand on his shoulder shook him roughly and he blinked. 

"What?" he asked. Had Bucky been speaking to him the whole time? He raised his head and threw a quick look around. Besides the two dead wolves, they were alone. 

The other shuffled around until Clint could see his face clearly and tried again. "Clint, fuck. Are you alright?"

Clint groaned and tried to move his arm. He cursed. "I'm not dead, that's for sure."

Bucky winced. "I'm so fucking sorry, I couldn't-" Clint raised his uninjured hand and slapped it clumsily over Bucky's lower face. 

"Bucky, shut up," he said, trying to sound as commanding as he could. "It wasn't your fault." 

But Bucky wasn't listening. He was bent over Clint's left arm, trying to assess the damage. Careful fingers pried blood soaked, torn fabric from the bite wounds and he had to squeeze his eyes shut until he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

"I don't think it's broken," Bucky enunciated clearly, "and it's not bleeding too much. You got off lucky." 

Clint scoffed. 

When Bucky reached into his pack and drew out a small brown glass bottle, he tensed. Fuck, he would not be enjoying this. 

Before his mind could spiral any further, Bucky tapped him again and asked, "Hey, Clint, do you have siblings?"

Clint blinked, completely thrown by the sudden change in topic. "Huh?" 

Before he could formulate his question, Bucky upended the bottle and poured a liberal amount of antiseptic over the gouges in his arm. 

"Motherfucker!" he yelled. A little bird startled out of its tree and took flight. "Fuck you," he gasped, chest heaving. Bucky just patted his chest in consolation. 

Together, they wrapped the wound as tightly as they could. 

"I'll bandage it properly when we find shelter." Bucky's eyes swept the area for the umpteenth time in a handful of minutes. Clearly, he wasn't confident enough to let them stay here any longer than they absolutely had to. And frankly, neither was Clint. 

Sometime between becoming aware of the impending attack and Clint regaining his senses, it had started to snow lightly. He blinked when a flake landed on his cheekbone. 

Bucky helped Clint get to his feet and into the straps of his backpack with careful, light touches, but the blond still had to grit his teeth against the pain. He wasn't looking forward to walking like this for half a day. Fuck, he should have shot every single one of those beasts as soon as he could have. It had been stupid, plain and simple, to think that they'd be able to scare them off without scoring at least one injury between the two of them. Next time, he told himself, he would not hesitate. 

The wolf he'd killed with an arrow lay to the side. It was thin, and smaller than he'd initially thought. He bet that if he shoved his hands into the thick fur, he would only feel skin and bones. 

Looking down at it, a half forgotten memory tickled at his awareness and he frowned. "Hey, Buck."

"Hm?"

"How'd you know I like dogs?"

Bucky gave him a sidelong glance. "You look the type."

**~**

They started marching, slower than they had been before, with Bucky hovering at his uninjured side, ready to support him the second the need arose. Clint would have rolled his eyes, if it wasn't quite so endearing. He wouldn't be fainting from the bite any time soon, but it was nice to have someone truly worry about him, for once. 

The pain had abated to a dull, but persistent, throbbing and he was pretty sure the bleeding had slowed, but the adrenaline crash, the exhaustion and insufficient nourishment were making themselves known. With wistfulness, he thought back to earlier, when they'd lain in the snow and momentarily forgotten the rest of the world. 

To distract himself from his overall discomfort, he tried searching for a conversation starter, but to his surprise, he wasn't the one who broke the silence.

"Do you want to know why I came with you?" Bucky asked, voice quiet and almost inaudible to Clint's ears. He was looking at the ground as they walked, only his strong profile visible. 

Clint eyed him. He could raise his arm and quip something along the lines of 'to prevent  _ this _ from happening?' but something in Bucky's profile made him stop. "Tell me," he murmured softly. 

"All this time I've been sitting in this house, trying to take care of my bull-headed best friend, trying to keep us warm and fed and  _ all this time _ , I've felt so helpless. Because no matter what I do, I can't change anything about our situation, I- I can't magically turn the lights back on, I can't take us  _ home _ ." His hand tightened on the strap of his pack. "I can't help my family." His voice cracked on the last word, and Clint should reach out, put an arm around his shoulders and soothe, but he was frozen to the spot. 

"What do you mean  _ 'best friend' _ ?" The question slipped out before he could stop it and he squeezed his eyes shut in mortification. His face coloured, he could feel it. 

"What do you mean  _ 'what do you mean' _ ?" Bucky asked, perturbed. "Steve's my best friend." 

Clint stood there for half an eternity, silent. Then, he dropped his face into his uninjured hand. "Oh my god," he whispered. Because- Because there might have been a little something he'd missed.

A hand grabbed his wrist and tried to tug his hand from his face. He groaned a complaint. 

"Clint," Bucky demanded. "Clint, what did you think Steve was?" His voice rose in pitch, whether it was in disbelief or hysteria, Clint couldn't tell. 

"Well, you see -" he dropped his hand and raised his head, but avoided Bucky's eyes "- there might have been a misunderstanding." Embarrassment must be written all across his face. "I thought he was something very different." 

Bucky's hand dropped away. "Oh my god," came a horrified whisper that Clint could barely read on his lips. "Oh my  _ god _ ." Before Clint could blink, Bucky whirled around and marched off, soft, downy snow slipping off his shoulders. 

He gaped. "Buck?" 

"I cannot fucking believe you!" 

Clint winced. He hadn't needed to see Bucky's face to understand him loud and clear. "Bucky, wait!" He scrambled after him, hissing and cursing when the movement jostled his arm. 

His friend must have heard him, because he slowed his steps; He didn't turn around, though. 

"Bucky, let me explain!" Clint called, a little desperately. There was no answer. 

He huffed, hefting the strap of his backpack higher. "I'm sorry, okay? It was just- You and Steve, you're so-" He threw out his hands in a vague, completely unspecified gesture. "You know what I mean!"

Meanwhile, Bucky's face had darkened even further and Clint winced. "Do I?" Bucky asked pointedly. 

"Yeah! You're always hanging around each other!"

"Oh, like you and Natasha?" 

"That's different." Clint flapped his hand deprecatingly. "You're sharing a bed!" 

Bucky came to an abrupt stop and whirled to face him. "We share a bed because it was the only one left!" 

Clint winced again. Alright, that made an awful lot of sense. "Well, what was I supposed to think?" When Bucky didn't even deign to look at him, he kept probing. "And why are you so angry with me?" And if his tone had taken on a little bit of petulance, he didn't care.

Now it was Bucky who threw his hand up. "I don't know, maybe because I've been flirting with this guy for the  _ past week  _ and now he-" 

He stopped and so did Clint, biting his lip. Bucky had acknowledged it. Had finally said the things Clint's been racking his brain over for so long. A gloved hand came up, pointing at his face. 

"What did you think I was doing?" Bucky's voice was calm, almost quiet, and it terrified Clint more than any wolf ever could. 

"Uh, well..." He avoided looking at Bucky, choosing to focus upwards on the thin, thready clouds instead. 

"You thought I was just some flirt!" Bucky exclaimed. "An asshole walking around hitting on you while his partner's at home waiting for him!" He sputtered, clearly somewhat overwhelmed by the force of his own indignation. 

"Bucky," Clint started, but he didn't know how to continue. It wasn't necessary. 

Bucky turned again and stomped off, leaving the riverbed and Clint to stare at his back. He groaned and hurried after his companion, careful to keep him in his sight. _ Clint, you dummy _ , he thought. 

But no matter how remorseful he was, no matter how he much he wanted to curse himself- 

Just a few minutes ago, Bucky had had a boyfriend - at least to Clint. And now...

He had to keep his hands from clenching in anticipation. Something had lodged itself firmly beneath his ribs, something he'd kept small and starving for so long, something that was now pulsing and thrumming in his chest. Hope. 

**~**

He caught up to Bucky eventually and when he did, it felt like he'd walked face first into a wall. Because beyond the hilltop only a few yards ahead of them, nestled between rock and shrubbery, stood a tiny, but familiar, hut. 

For a second, his throat closed up. They'd come full circle, back to where their journey had truly started, back where they'd started moving from strangers to something... to something else. Something he was reluctant to name. 

Bucky had already crossed the little clearing and was wrenching the door open with a resounding crack. Snow had piled up outside of it and ice had stuck the door to the frame but otherwise, it was just how they had left it. They could stay here the rest of the day and Clint wanted to fall to his knees and praise whatever deity was out there when he realised. 

With a groan, Clint dropped his pack at the foot of the bed and rolled his shoulders. The straps had dug through layer upon layer of clothing and into his skin, and the muscles in his back and neck were tense enough to snap any second now. He let himself drop onto the mattress, his arm cradled in his lap.

The material wrapped around the wound was blood stained and Clint was slightly scared of taking it off, but before he could dwell on it any further, Bucky knelt down in front of him. 

"Arm," he said, clipped. When Clint held it out in trepidation, he peeled the sodden mess off as slowly and as gently as he could, but by the end of it, Clint was still left panting and sweating. He shuddered when cold air hit his damp skin and burrowed further down into himself.

"It's alright, you're gonna be fine," Bucky murmured, focused on the wound. His voice was low and warm, and Clint imagined he could feel the vibrations through the air. He wasn't sure Bucky was aware of what he was doing, but he was thankful regardless. 

When the full extent of the damage was revealed, his stomach rolled and he had to avert his eyes. "Fuck," he whispered. "How can you stand the sight of that?"

Bucky threw him a dry look. "I've seen worse."

"Of course." Despite the situation Clint huffed a laugh.

After a bit of prodding, turning the arm this way and that, Bucky said, "I'm not sure if this needs stitches and I wouldn't be able to do them myself. You'll have to wait for Sam to look at this when we get back tomorrow."

"Wait," Clint jumped in, "tomorrow?"

Bucky gave a lopsided smile. It looked a little wistful. "The house is just a few miles south of here. We got turned around pretty good on our first day."

Clint opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was torn. Torn between desperately wanting to be back with the group, where it was warm and safe, and being with Bucky. He had no doubts that as soon as they reached the farmhouse, their journey effectively ending, things would go back to the way they were before. And he wasn't ready to lose what they had, the easy camaraderie, the banter. The flirting. 

"Cheer up," Bucky said, his eyes searching Clint's. "I'll even let you sleep in tomorrow."

His hand came up and squeezed Clint's shoulder; and if it lingered longer than strictly necessary, neither of them mentioned it. 

Bucky managed to get a fire going with the very last dregs of fuel they had. When the fire crackled weakly, illuminating the small hut and casting flickering light across their faces, he dragged a freshly bandaged Clint over to sit in the chair right in front of it. His bedroll landed in his lap a second later.

"I'm going out to get some firewood. I won't be gone long, promise." 

Clint wanted to protest, wanted to offer to join him, but even he knew that the last thing he should do right now was leave the hut and the warmth and protection it offered. And they couldn't go the night without at least some firewood. So he just gave a resolute nod, willing Bucky to be careful as fuck out there and settled in. 

He didn't stay alone for long. His companion returned covered in snow and with an armful of frozen sticks and branches that he dropped next to the fire without ceremony. It was far from the best fuel, but it would have to do. 

**~**

Once the fire had gained in size and the air finally warmed, Clint dug into his backpack and procured a heavy, frozen glob of venison. 

"Well," he said drily, "at least we don't have to worry about the food going bad." 

Between the two of them, two knives, a hatchet and copious amounts of coarse swear words, they managed to break off a few chunks and set them over the little fire to cook painstakingly slowly. 

"You know what I miss?" Bucky mumbled, sitting on the floor next to Clint's chair. "Delivery service. Chinese takeout." 

Clint was almost overcome by a sudden craving. "I miss pizza." 

"God, me too." A wry grin tugged at Bucky's slips.

Before the silence could drag on, Clint hastily asked, "What else?" He was all too aware of the giant fucking elephant in the room. Maybe, if he was smart about it, he could distract Bucky into forgetting the earlier embarrassing revelation.. 

Bucky hummed, still staring into the fire. It was strangely beautiful, how one side of his face was cast in firelight, the other in darkness. Clint had to concentrate hard on his lips to understand him - not that he had anything against  _ that _ , per say. 

"Music. I miss music." Bucky's tone was wistful and his eyes so sad, it made Clint's heart ache. 

"I miss indoor plumbing," he said. Sadness like that had no place in Bucky, not when Clint could try to do something about it. "Whenever I want to relieve myself, I wonder if that's the day that my nuts finally freeze to the ground. It would be a very undignified way to go." Bucky chuckled, but it wasn't enough for Clint. "Imagine finding me like that." 

For a second, Bucky's expression was vacant; then, his whole face slowly lit up and he burst into loud guffaws. 

"Or imagine me being sniffed out while I do my business, pants down, dick in hand, by an outraged bear because how dare I do that on his property?" 

Bucky doubled over with laughter and Clint was reminded of their exploits earlier that day. He'd missed that laugh, if he was being completely honest. 

The other man wheezed. "I can just picture it. You running past with your pants around your feet and a scandalised bear on your heels." He laughed again and Clint joined in. 

Yes, this was much better than talking about their feelings, he decided. 

Finally, Bucky cleared his throat and wiped the last tear from the corner of his eye. "You're trying to distract me," he said, shoulders still shaking slightly. 

"Is it working?"

Bucky huffed. "Kinda. But I'm stubborn."

"I hardly noticed," Clint remarked, earning himself a light shove to the shoulder. 

"Stop it," Bucky commanded and if Clint ever told anyone that tone didn't get to him at all, it would be a lie. 

Barton, get your mind out of the gutter and concentrate.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," Bucky said after a few minutes of silence. He was still staring at the fire. "It wasn't your fault and I should not have gotten so frustrated with you."

Clint shrugged awkwardly. "I'm sorry for assuming."

Bucky mimicked his shrug. "I get it. It's not the first time someone thought that."

They were quiet again and Clint turned the earlier confrontation, the whole past week, over in his head, again and again. As opposed as he normally was to opening up and being vulnerable, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to risk it. 

"So, you were flirting, yeah?"

"Well," Bucky drawled with a cringe. "Yes." Discomfort coloured his face and he threw Clint an uncertain look. "I was starting to wonder if maybe you just didn't like me that way."

And Clint took the plunge. "Oh, I  _ do  _ like you that way." Bucky's face lightened like the sun breaking through the clouds. "I just felt so bad for Steve." 

The other man snorted. "No need. He practically kicked me out of the house when he heard of your plans." He gave a theatrical eye-roll. "He thinks I'm ‘ _ hovering’ _ ." The last word was emphasised with honest to god air quotes and Clint sputtered a laugh. 

"I can't imagine," he snickered, remembering how Bucky used to shadow Steve through the house. 

He caught the other's eye and stilled. He didn't know how to approach the giant fucking elephant in the room and by the looks of it, neither did Bucky. But he knew they needed to talk.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence. "When we're back in New York, no matter how long it takes to get there, when everything has returned to normal, I want to take you to dinner." His voice was low and warm and Clint trembled. 

"And in the meantime?" he whispered. 

Bucky's eyes flickered between his own. Then, they dropped to Clint's mouth. "Can I-"

"Yeah," he interrupted breathlessly. 

The next instant, Bucky was off the floor and crowding close, his hand tilting Clint's face up. His lips were dry and chapped, the tip of his nose burning cold against Clint's skin. It was absolute bliss. 

He sighed into the kiss, a week's worth of stolen glances and repressed thoughts finally falling off his shoulders for good. He felt Bucky's answering smile against his lips and couldn't help but return it. 

"What?" he murmured when they parted for only - and he made damn sure of that - a second. 

But Bucky only shook his head and returned for more. 

They finally parted when Clint tried to raise his injured arm to drag the other man even closer and jostled it hard enough to make him bite down on Bucky's lower lip too hard. They separated with a muttered barrage of curses between the two of them and Clint was not above whining a little when Bucky's jacket slipped from his fingers. 

He tried to apologise, but the other only waved him off. "Of course that happened," he groaned, but there was a grin tugging at his lips. His swollen, shining lips. 

Clint sighed despondently. 

"Is your arm okay?"

"No," he answered truthfully, "but that's no reason not to kiss me."

Bucky huffed a laugh. He sat back down, his shoulder pressed to Clint's thigh and leaned against the chair. "How inadvisable is it to start dating during the apocalypse?" he mused, turning his head so Clint could read his lips again. 

"I will ask Natasha tomorrow," he promised in return. 

**~**

They ate in comfortable silence, pressed together the entire time. Now warm and full, Clint could barely keep his eyes open. When his head tipped back on the chair for the fourth time, Bucky rose from his position on the floor. 

Clint blinked up at him, befuddled. 

"Come on, let's go to bed," Bucky said. 

Clint gave the bed an appreciative once-over and waggled his eyebrows at the other man. 

"It's cute that you think we're ready for that," Bucky laughed. "Up you get." And he heaved Clint to his feet, sleeping bag tangled around his ankles. 

Once Clint had divested himself of his outer layers with his boyfriend's -  _ his boyfriend’s  _ \- help, he crawled into their combined bedrolls, his jaw cracking on a yawn. As tired as he was, he didn't actually want to sleep and for this day to end at all. When he felt Bucky slipping into the bed and rearranging the thick blanket on top of them, he turned on his side. 

"So, we're dating now?" 

Bucky smiled and, going by the soft vibrations Clint could feel through the mattress, hummed in affirmation. A hand snuck out from the covers and lightly brushed against his cheek. His face heated. 

Swallowing against the sudden onslaught of feelings, he leaned into the touch. "And you're my boyfriend?"

Bucky's lips tipped into a lopsided grin. "That sounds so juvenile." 

"That's because my mental growth stagnated when I was around fourteen," Clint answered seriously. 

"Which makes this-" Bucky gestured between the two of them "-rather awkward."

"Oh, because you're so mature?" Clint asked, widening his eyes comically. "Did you, or did you not slide down a very steep hill laughing like a maniac just this morning?" 

Bucky's face drew into a snicker and he pushed his head forward to bury it in Clint's neck. Who absolutely  _ melted _ . 

A low rumble sounded against his chest. "Come again?" Bucky pulled back and Clint instantly regretted having asked. He wanted nothing more than the feeling of Bucky's warmth on his skin, having him close enough to touch at all times. 

"I'm very happy," Bucky announced, making sure the low light of the fire showed the movement of his lips. 

And Clint had no words that could adequately describe the swirling feelings in his chest, so he reached out, cupped Bucky's cheek and drew him into an urgent kiss. He pressed his lips first to Bucky's, then to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks, everywhere he could reach. When he finally released him, Bucky looked a little dazed and there was not an inch of space between the two of them. 

"Fuck, I'm so glad you're not dating Steve." He exhaled a laugh against Bucky's lips. 

His boyfriend -  _ his boyfriend _ \- chuckled, brushing their noses together. "Please don't tell him about that part when we get back. He’d never let me live it down." Clint had to concentrate hard to make out the words. The low light and his exhaustion were making themselves known. 

He scoffed. "There are very few things I can keep from Nat, and this won't be one of them. Nat will tell Sam and Sam will tell Steve. The only one we can trust not to make fun of us in that whole house is Wanda, god bless her." 

Bucky pursed his lips. Clint traced the shape of them with a finger. Giddiness, the elation of being able to do this and the excitement a new, young love brought warred with the warmth and sleepiness trying to drag him under. He yawned again. 

"Go to sleep, Clint," Bucky whispered. The bed shifted as he found the last bit of space between the two of them and removed it. 

Clint closed his eyes. Tomorrow, they would go home where it was safe and warm. He would embrace Natasha and Sam, endure them fussing over his arm and teasing him for falling in love during the apocalypse. He’d have Wanda and Steve to prod and pester him with deeply personal questions while Sam made sure his wounded arm was taken care of. They’d crowd around him and Bucky and their laughter would be lighting up their faces and he would be home. With his family. 

But for now, he was here in Bucky’s arms and he couldn’t remember having ever felt this warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lastly, I would like to tell you that it was my first time writing a deaf character, so I hope I did it justice. If, however, you spotted a mistake I made and think "well, this wouldn't work if he was deaf" then please, don't be shy and tell me. I do want to improve.  
> Also, I want you to know that I'm well aware of the stigma wolves suffer. I know that wolf attacks are far less likely to happen than most people think, but I hope I at least managed to write a halfway realistic scenario here. *winks at the TLD fandom*  
> Lastly, I am unsure about the tags. If you think there are tags I should add, again, please don't be shy. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and generally cheering me on! You are amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious or just want to yell at me, here's my [ tumblr ](https://kidd-you-not.tumblr.com/). And make double sure to check out GWH's amazing artwork!
> 
> As I forgot to mention above, this is directly inspired by a video game called The Long Dark. It's survival and indie, so if that's something you like, it's absolutely worth checking out.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[art] Firelight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737360) by [GWH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GWH/pseuds/GWH)




End file.
